The Code of Honor
by Nevermore
Summary: Sequel to 'Way of the Warrior': Max's life as an avenging angel of death has her teetering on the edge of the point of no return, while Logan and company try to 'save' her. (Complete)
1. Prologue

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

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The Code of Honor

by

Nevermore

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Author's Note: This is a sequel to my earlier stories, _The Becoming_ and _Way of the Warrior_, and the final part of what I have come to refer to as the _Justice Trilogy_. If you haven't read the previous two installments in my little trilogy, I would suggest you do so before reading this (as I've gone off on a bit of a tangent with Max's character, it would help you understand far better if you saw where this incarnation of the character came from.) Additionally, you might be interested in reading _Time in a Bottle_ and _The Apprentice Becomes the Master_, which are two short ficlets that are interludes between _Way of the Warrior_ and this story. Oh, and please take a few seconds to review. It'll be greatly appreciated, especially if you only have very good things to say. :)

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Prologue

Max stepped lightly out of the warm tub, slipped into a heavy white robe, wrapped a towel around her wet hair, and walked from the bathroom into the kitchen. She had worked hard and felt that she deserved a treat, and with the night she had just had, only a chocolate shake would do. With a quick movement she clicked on the television to listen to what passed for news in Seattle. In reality, the 'news' was little more than a bunch of stories that had been censored by all interested parties to remove any bits of information that might have any type of relevance. What was left was reports that told of kittens stuck in trees and information on travel pass restrictions.

Mostly ignoring the television, Max started to scoop chocolate Haagen Dazs ice cream into her blender, and then added some heavy cream, malt, a shot of Kahlua, and several shots of rum. The drinking was a relatively new activity for her, but she found it helped her relax after a night on the streets. She needed that.

"Do not attempt to adjust your set," Max heard from her living room, recognizing Logan's voice immediately. _Perhaps we'll get some real news after all._ "This is a Streaming Freedom Video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly 60 seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in the city." _Well, besides mine, that is,_ Max thought with amusement.

"Last night, the vigilante known as Justice killed fourteen street chemists and armed guards at a drug production facility just outside the city," Logan began. "The police continue to lack the ability to oppose this ruthless vigilante, as some wish to support Justice's activities, others wish to hire Justice to do their own dirty work, and only a sadly small fraction are interested in arresting this person and administering a dose of true justice. As long as their indecision continues, this vigilante will continue to tear our streets apart and make Seattle little more than a city akin to an old frontier town, where might makes right and the average citizen will not be able to live in peace." Without another word, Logan's hack ceased and Max was returned to the news just in time to hear about how a dog named Rufus saved his owners from dying in a house fire.

_Seems Logan is getting a little more into editorializing,_ Max decided. _And his voice seemed to sound a little... irritated. If I didn't know any better, I would think he was taking my activities a little personally._ She sat on her comfortable couch and took a large gulp of her shake. The ice cream was cold in her throat, while the alcohol held the faintest hint of a burn. The mixed feedback from her nerve endings always felt strangely pleasant.

_Maybe I should drop by and make sure my old friend is still doing okay,_ Max mused. It had been over a year since she had spoken to Logan, when she had walked out of his life rather than give up her role as Justice. Sometimes, though admittedly not often, she wondered if she had done the right thing. It was impossible to tell how much drugs she had kept off the streets, and how many violent criminals she had sent to their graves. She had also intervened to prevent three assassinations. It was those jobs that satisfied her most, as she could always just drop by the homes of the intended victims and see the tangible results of her labors. People were alive who would otherwise be dead, and it was because of her. It made all of the pain worth it.

_But there's been so much pain,_ she reflected. She put down her shake and walked into the bedroom, slipping out of her robe and examining her bare body in a large, full-length mirror. Examining the results of her nightly excursions had become a tradition. Fresh bruises mottled her arms and legs, mingling gruesomely with the scars that covered her once-smooth skin. Seven gunshot wounds, thirteen stab wounds, three long slash wounds from swords, a puncture wound on her forearm from a compound fracture of her ulna, scars from road-burn on her legs – the result of two wipeouts on her bike – and burn scars running from her left shoulder all the way down to the tips of her fingers. Had she been merely human, she would likely have been dead at least half a dozen times over, and she knew it. Max raised the slender fingers of her right hand, the one in which she still had full feeling, and lightly caressed her face, amazed that such a large area of her body had remained unscathed. In a year of constant urban warfare, part of her had somehow remained untouched. She was grateful. Without any visible scarring on her face, she could still walk out amongst the 'normal' people.

_Would Logan still care for this face?_ Max wondered silently, surprising herself with the fact that she still cared. She chased the thought from her head, and then began to wonder why it still hurt her to think of the friend she had left behind. _And was he really only a friend?_ she asked herself, knowing as she asked that she lacked the courage to answer her own question. She unwrapped the towel from around her head, allowing her wet hair to fall down over her face.

_Well, I could always let it air dry,_ she thought. _Of course, the best way to do that is on the back of my bike._ She looked out the window, noting that it was probably about an hour before rush hour really got going. She still had time to get her bike up to speed. _Maybe I'll even check up on Logan. I haven't peeked in on him to make sure he's okay in at least three months. It would be nice to see his face again, even if he doesn't see mine._

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Logan stirred in his sleep and then suddenly opened his eyes, immediately aware that he was not alone. He half-opened an eye and scanned the room, but saw nothing other than the half-opened window that was allowing a cool, light breeze to waft into his bedroom. The sun had already gone down, and Logan could hardly believe he had slept all day. It had been so long...

"Max?" Logan asked into the darkness, unable to imagine that anyone else could have gotten around his formidable security system so easily. "Is that you?"

"No," a male voice answered. Logan immediately reached under his pillow for the 9mm he slept with, and brought it to bear even as he searched the darkness for a target. Unfortunately, he was unable to find the intruder before his wrist was grabbed and the gun was wrenched out of his grasp with as much ease as a lollipop could have been taken from a child. "You won't need that," the voice added.

"Who are you?" Logan asked, suddenly able to see the shadowy silhouette of his uninvited guest, pitch black against a midnight blue background. The man stood about average height, but his features were completely concealed beneath a dark, hooded cloak that seemed to billow slightly in the zephyr drifting into the room.

"A very interesting question, actually," the man responded. "To be quite honest, I'm not entirely sure who I am. However, my name is Rory, if that helps you at all."

"Rory?" Logan asked, searching for anyone he knew who went by the name. "I don't think I know you," he finally muttered.

"No, I don't believe you do," Rory agreed. "We do have a common acquaintance, though. I believe you know Max."

"Yeah," Logan replied, knowing it would be impossible to deny since he had called out his long lost friend's name moments earlier. _Oh no,_ a voice called out from in his head. _This guy evaded my security as easily as Max ever did, and now he says he knows her. He's gotta be Manticore._

"Our friend is in a great deal of danger, Logan," Rory added. "I was hoping you could help me help her."

"I don't even know where she is. I haven't seen her in over a year," Logan said, pressing his hands into the mattress to force his body into an upright position. "Could you turn the light on, please? I'd be more comfortable seeing what's going on."

"I prefer it dark," Rory answered.

"Well I don't," Logan shot back, searching for some element of control in the situation. It was bad enough that Rory had entered his apartment uninvited and started making requests. Logan would be damned before he would carry on such a conversation in the dark.

After a moment Rory sighed, walked over to the doorway, and switched on the light. Even as he did so, he pulled his hood over his head more thoroughly, not even allowing a view of the shadows that fell around his face. "Are you happy now, Mr. Cale?"

"Yes," Logan replied. "Now what kind of danger is Max in?"

"The worst kind," Rory said cryptically. "She's lost her way, and now searches for meaning in a life that was not meant for her."

"What are you talking about?" Logan asked, beginning to wonder just where Max had met this man. While Logan's first guess had been that Rory was Manticore, he was increasingly becoming convinced that Rory was something else entirely. He spoke differently, somehow – while Max and Zack had always been somewhat forthright, Rory spoke evasively, almost in riddles. He carried himself differently, also; that much was clear even with the cloak obscuring a full view. Rory seemed almost completely at ease, despite the circumstances. Like Max and Zack, he possessed a bit of a feline grace, but his was more reminiscent of a male lion examining his own pride while Max and Zack had always seemed more like a leopard gathering itself to pounce upon prey. _If he's not Manticore, though, then what is he? Who is he?_

"Well, Max has embraced the life of a vigilante," Rory explained. Those words immediately caught Logan's attention. "I was under the impression that you are Eyes Only. From your reports, I'm willing to guess you know more about what she's been up to than I do."

"Yeah, that's the reason she and I haven't spoken in so long," Logan said evenly, not replying to the tidbit about his identity as Eyes only. He wanted to see where the conversation was going first.

"I thought she was your friend," Rory muttered. "You seriously haven't spoken to her at all? Not once? Not even to find out if she's okay?"

"That's right," Logan admitted sadly. It had felt like Max had stabbed him when she had admitted to being the violent vigilante known as Justice. It had hurt even worse when she had said that she no longer needed him. The days, weeks, and months that had followed, though, had been a different kind of torture. For almost every minute of the past year Logan had found himself thinking about the friend he had lost, even as he worried about what would ultimately become of her. Every morning part of him expected to hear that Justice had been killed. Sometimes, as much as it disgusted him to think it, he almost wished Max would just get it over with, rather than hold the inevitable over him like the sword of Damocles.

"I'm sad to admit that I am at least partially at fault for Max's decisions in this matter," Rory stated. "I had tried to help Max, to guide her toward a role in life that she felt was her best destiny. I never guessed there was such darkness in a soul that could also produce her smile." He sat in a chair in the corner and pulled back his hood, allowing Logan to see his red hair and deep green eyes.

"You're the one that's responsible?" Logan asked, feeling anger rise up within him.

"I spoke with her a while back," Rory explained, "and I told her that her abilities gave her a responsibility. I didn't think it was right that she should live as an ordinary citizen, delivering packages while people needed someone to help them. The government is struggling to restore order, and is not yet in any position to do what it should. Crime is everywhere, and poverty takes even hope away from the average American. Citizens are little more than victims, in one way or another. Max could change that. I encouraged her to take a more active role, just as you had."

"I see," Logan replied, fully aware of the fact that, when put in those words, Rory's discussions with Max almost seemed noble. The fact remained, however, that Max had gone farther than either of them had seemed to expect.

"Max no longer simply tries to help the innocent," Rory said. "Her quest had become only to punish the guilty. She has embraced the means, and forgotten the end, placing the cart before the horse, so to speak. She must be reminded of the true goal, and more importantly, she needs to be shown what she has become."

"And what's that?" Logan asked.

"She is now almost everything that Lydecker wanted us to be in the first place," Rory replied. "Word even has it that Max showed old Deck just how much she had developed her abilities. I heard he's promised to stay out of her city in the future."

"So you _are_ Manticore," Logan stated, hiding his shock that Max had apparently had a run-in with Lydecker at some point in the past year.

"Of course I'm Manticore," Rory said. "Ever since I was old enough to seriously consider philosophy, I've been wondering what it means to be me. Everything I read was written by men and women who never had to face the questions that I face. Max and I aren't really human, you must know that. We're smarter, faster, stronger, and more durable. On a scale of one to ten, we're both at least a thirteen. How do you explain to people like us how to get by in the world? Who would even know, in order to instruct us?" His eyes narrowed, and Logan wondered if Rory was waiting for him to say something. Before he could even find any words, though, his guest continued. "Think back to how you were as a teenager, Logan. You must have had some doubts, some confusion. At least you had people you could go to for advice. Max doesn't have that. The only adult who ever understood what we are was Lydecker, and he's not the type to inspire one to send a Father's Day card, if you catch my meaning."

"Completely," Logan confirmed.

"As I told Max, I believe everyone has a role in the universe," Rory said. "I'm searching for mine, and I got her started searching for hers. I fear that she's gone astray, though. This is the person she would have been had she stayed with Manticore. The universe allowed us to escape, so it must have been to allow us to grow in a different direction. I have to convince her of that."

"And you said you need my help?" Logan asked, already feeling that his best chance for rehabilitating Max might lie with a man he had only known for a matter of minutes. He wondered why he would even want to go to the trouble of dealing with Max, but there was an ache in his chest that he had not felt in over a year, not since he had last been in a room with her. He needed to help her if he could.

"Yes, your help more than any other's."

"Why?"

"Because Max loves you," Rory said simply. The words sent a chill down Logan's spine while his stomach simultaneously felt as if it did a somersault. The experience was strange, though he could not honestly say that it was altogether unpleasant. "I'm unsure, though, if even she is aware of her feelings, especially after so long. You and I will have to show her a new path, before the one she's on gets her killed. Can I count on your support?"

"Of course."

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To be continued.............................


	2. A Night at Work

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

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A Night at Work

Justice moved across the rooftop and looked down into the alley below. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly new criminals replaced those that she removed from the streets. It was a never-ending cycle. Originally, she had felt that scaring enough of the street-level criminals would cut down on crime. That hadn't worked. She had promptly been forced to adjust her strategy, and she decided to move up the criminal food chain to those that made the decisions. That had also failed.

The first kingpin Justice had targeted was Norton Koch, but upon his death his right-hand man, Cameron Dean, had assumed control of the organization. Killing him had been difficult, and once it had been completed, there was no one that could immediately move into leadership of Dean's scattered criminal empire. The job had seemingly been done, and Justice had moved on to other enemies. Only a year later had she found that someone had slowly rebuilt the structure of the Norton Koch gang. _It's almost like fighting the hydra,_ Justice mused. _Cut off one head, and another simply grows to take its place. Well, if anything can destroy a hydra, a chimera can._

Focusing once again on her situation, Justice counted the men below her. There were seven in all. Two of them, she knew. Morgan Dean, the brother of the recently deceased Cameron Dean, was an arms dealer that did mostly freelance work, though his contacts allowed him to get prices that made him more than competitive with the larger sellers that sold in high volume. Stanley Witter was a smooth operator that Justice knew was working for whoever it was that now ran Cameron Dean's old crew. She had tried twice before to get a hold of Witter in order to get some information on the new boss, but each time he had slipped out of her grasp. Justice vowed that this time would be different. It was obvious that Witter and his three men were buying, and that Dean, with his two men and two wooden crates, was selling. _More guns out on the streets,_ Justice thought angrily. _That's the last thing I need. I guess I'm gonna have to seize these and put them to some good use._

She leapt from her perch and dropped to the ground, landing lightly into a roll and coming up face to face with Morgan Dean. A quick gasp from her opponent let Justice know that she was recognized, though her satisfied smile was hidden under the black folds of her mask. A quick punch to the solar plexus sent Dean to the ground, and a hurricane kick to the next nearest man eliminated one of his guards. Justice spun again, her cloak billowing around her as one of Stanley Witter's guards raised a Glock and fired. With the cloak whirling about as Justice moved, it was difficult to see where her body actually was underneath the fabric. The guard's shots missed, just as so many others had in the past, and Justice closed for the kill. Stanley Witter swung his briefcase in a futile arc, trying to keep Justice at bay. He failed, and received a broken jaw for his trouble. It was then that Justice caught the scent of bomb residue. It wasn't coming from the crates, though, as she would have expected. It was coming from the briefcase.

Justice's mind raced along, putting together the fragments of information she knew. _Oh no!_ she screamed silently as she dove for cover behind a dumpster. Her superhuman reflexes were the only thing that saved her life. The briefcase exploded in a blast of light and heat, filling the alley with an eruption of flame that detonated the explosives in the crates. The secondary bursts tore a hole in the two adjacent buildings, and in the back of her mind Justice was dimly aware that she was about to be covered in tons of rubble. She gathered herself up, ignoring the flames that were starting to dance along her cloak, and dashed toward the end of the alley. A cloud of dust and debris followed her from the alley as each of the buildings collapsed. Only when she was out in the road did Justice realize she was on fire. She dropped to the pavement and rolled just long enough to smother the flames, and then raced off into the nearest shadow just as the first police hover-drone arrived on the scene.

_What the hell just happened?_ she wondered. Justice replayed the encounter over and over in her mind, trying to figure out why Stanley Witter's briefcase had exploded. _Was it a double-cross of Morgan Dean? Did the new boss want to get rid of Cameron Dean's brother in case there was a threat of competition?_ That idea made little sense, as Morgan Dean and his brother had never been on good terms, and also since Morgan had no desire to get trapped in a structured job. Everyone in the business knew that Morgan was small-time because he wanted it that way – he would never devote so much time to business that he would be forced to part with his playtime. _Also, it's a pretty bad move to put Witter in a position where he could get blown up the way he did. He's too valuable a resource, especially in such a small organization – he was loyal to Koch, and then loyal to Dean. I doubt his loyalty would have started to waver now._ Questions led to questions, and Justice decided that her best move was to head home. Her head was throbbing from the sound of the explosion, and she could tell that she had taken several small wounds from shrapnel. If she was lucky, she would be able to patch everything up herself. If not, then there would be another visit to a street doc in her future, and without retrieving the weapons or the briefcase, it could get a little expensive.

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On a rooftop across the street, a lone man looked through a set of nightvision binoculars with disappointment. Justice had gotten away... again. The boss would not be happy. Stanley Witter's briefcase had been rigged with semtex, white phosphorous, and barbed nails, and the detonator had been given to the man that now watched from above. The plan was simple – wait until Justice showed up, and then blow the briefcase. Seattle's vigilante would be incinerated, shredded by shrapnel, and covered by a collapsed building. What the scheme lacked in subtlety it had more than made up for with thoroughness. _How did bitch escape?_ the man wondered.

Now they had not only lost one of their best sources for weapons and also a trusted and efficient bagman, they had also missed a golden opportunity to kill Justice. The new boss had proven to be ruthless and clever, willing to sacrifice anyone and anything to set a believable trap and dispose of an enemy. He bet Justice would never guess that such an irrational chain of events had been thrown together with the sole purpose of killing her. _Yep, the new boss is certainly gonna get things fixed up. I just hope I'm not the one carrying the briefcase next time_.

To be continued.............................


	3. Time to Heal

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

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Time to Heal

Ignoring the searing pain in her right leg, Max staggered into her apartment and immediately made the decision not to turn on the light. There was an unfamiliar scent, and that meant she was not alone. She pushed aside thoughts of treating her wounds and began thinking strategy – her natural low-light vision might give her an advantage. She steeled her will and walked without a limp, determined to show no signs of weakness to whoever might be watching. She also moved her hand down toward her 9mm pistol even as she did her best to act as if she had no idea anyone was there.

"Hello, Max," she heard a vaguely familiar voice say.

"Rory?" she asked, surprised that she had not recognized his scent. _He must be masking it somehow._

"Of course it's Rory," he replied, switching on the light in her living room. "Who else would have known to find you here?"

"I don't know," Max said evenly, once again allowing the majority of her weight to rest heavily on her relatively uninjured left leg. "Why are you here?"

"Just visiting."

"And is my apartment a stop on some tour?"

"Well, you _are_ a celebrity now," Rory said with a slight grin. "You had to expect that you'd be put on someone's Seattle map of important people's homes."

"Great," Max replied, limping into the room. She picked up a heavy blanket from the love seat and threw it on the floor, then sat down on it, confident that the blanket was thick enough to prevent any blood from seeping through to her carpet.

"You got rid of the fish tank," Rory commented, referring to the pets he had kept when he had lived there.

"I think I frightened them," Max said with a forced grin. "I felt bad for them, so I gave the tank to my old roommate so they'd feel safer. They must have sensed that part of me just wanted to scoop them out of there and swallow 'em whole."

"Oh, that's pleasant," Rory returned, his grin growing wider. "So how bad you get it tonight?"

"It's not good," Max admitted. "Someone rigged a briefcase to blow, and I was too close when it went off. They had nails inside, so as you can imagine the shrapnel is rather painful."

"You need help stitching yourself back up?" Max looked down at her right thigh, remembering how the wounds had seemed before she had bandaged them. Located on the back of her leg, they would be difficult to reach properly.

"Oh, I think I could use all the help I can get," Max finally admitted, "and not just with the stitching part." She knew the kind of medical training Rory had received as a child at Manticore. She trusted him to do every bit as good a job as she could do herself.

"Well then the first thing you're gonna have to do is get out of those clothes," Rory said. Max simply glared at him. "Hey, this is simply in the interest of giving you the medical attention you need. For the next hour or so, why don't you just think of me as your doctor."

"Great," Max answered. "But if you want to play doctor, I have to tell ya you're a little too late to have too much fun. I was in heat three weeks ago."

"Just my luck," Rory replied. "Now stop stalling and get out of those clothes." Max did as she was told, but decided not to stop with just slipping out of her black cloak and ninja garb. She also discarded the black tank-top and exercise bra, and within moments was left in nothing but a black thong. She got the reaction she wanted – Rory couldn't stop staring. It made Max feel sexier than she had in a long time, knowing that another one of her kind, all of whom were something more than human, obviously found her alluring. It felt good to get attention that didn't involve gunshots fired in her direction.

"My God, Max," Rory muttered. "What's happened to you?" It was only then that Max realized it was not her figure that Rory was staring at, but her scars. Her feeling of confidence vanished, and she suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious. In one fluid motion she gathered up the edge of the blanket and covered herself up. She averted her eyes, too mortified even to meet Rory's gaze. "No, don't do that," Rory finally said. His hand gently touched hers, and lowered the blanket once more, slowly exposing her body once again, inch by inch. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Max. You're still beautiful. I just didn't expect you to have taken such a beating."

"I'm a walking wound," Max said, wincing as she shrugged her shoulders. She noted that she probably re-separated her shoulder a bit at some point. She almost felt grateful that the shrapnel had hurt enough to almost conceal the shoulder pain. Separated shoulders were starting to annoy her.

"Lie down on you stomach," Rory instructed, noting with approval the field bandage that Max had applied before coming home. The bleeding had definitely been controlled, and her genetically engineered platelets had done their job, clotting the blood before she lost enough to go into shock. "Where's your First Aid kit?"

"Under my bed," Max replied. A minute later Rory was searching through the kit, and Max felt him start to cut through her bandages.

"This is pretty bad, Max," he said, telling her nothing she didn't already know.

"I'll live."

"Yeah, but you won't be walking for at least a couple of days."

"I know," Max admitted. She hated the very thought of having to stay at home for several days, but there was no choice. She was out of commission, and knew it. "I think there are two nails back there," she added, hoping to assist Rory's analysis.

"Yep," he agreed, "along with some smaller pieces of metal. All in all, though, you're lucky. It's really just a four inch by three inch area that really took the hit, and the major blood vessels were missed."

"Lucky for me. I was hiding behind a dumpster," Max explained. "There was a hole near the bottom of it, though, so I didn't get complete cover."

"You're lucky the hole wasn't any bigger." Max felt Rory's hands running over her skin, examining her with the precision of a surgeon. The nails had entered at odd angles, and he had to figure out which way to pull. She knew this would be the easiest part. After this, everything he did would be painful. "You ready?" he finally asked.

"No," Max replied, "but do it anyway." She felt a slight tugging on the back of her thigh, and the feeling quickly changed into one of tearing. She winced, and then moaned in agony. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked quickly, trying to keep her voice even so as not to give away just how much pain she was in.

"Who did this?" Rory asked, his tone making it clear he felt Max was hiding something.

"I told you, the bomb was in a briefcase," Max said.

"And the shrapnel was packed inside," Rory continued for her. "The thing is, though, that these nails are barbed. They tore you up enough going in, but getting them out again is going to be even worse. I don't know if I can do this here."

"I can't go to a hospital," Max pointed out needlessly.

"You're gonna be a bloody mess within a minute of me starting," Rory said. "Add to that the fact that you're probably gonna start screaming with the pain. I'm gonna have to get a scalpel and actually cut these out of you."

"I won't scream," Max replied stoically.

"Oh yes you will," Rory countered. "I know I would, and I doubt you're really any tougher than I am."

"Then gag me," Max suggested. "We'll go into the bathroom, and I'll get into the tub. Blood won't be a problem then. So no blood, and no screaming. We can do this."

"Max, seriously, you should have a professional do this."

"We were both trained for this," Max replied. "Stop being a wimp."

"I'm gonna have to put you under," Rory said. "You agree to that, and I'll agree to do the work myself."

"And where do you suggest we get the drugs?"

"I know someone," Rory replied. "I'm gonna bandage you back up. Then I'll go out really quickly. I'll be back soon, and then we'll dope you up."

"Then you'll put me back together again?"

"I promise," Rory said evenly. Max agreed, and Rory went back to work re-stabilizing her wound until he could get back to work on it.

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As Rory cut into Max's thigh, he was forced to wonder why her enemies had used the nails that they had. If they had only meant to pack the briefcase with shrapnel, any old nail would have done. These were not ordinary nails, though. Each one had barbs that had been individually sharpened for increased penetration. The sharpness of the nails had even allowed one of them to become embedded in Max's femur. Rory realized with some concern that a scalpel would not be enough – he would need a bonesaw... or at least a drill. _I can probably find a drill in the building manager's apartment,_ he decided.

As Max was anesthetized, he knew she would not feel any increased discomfort by the prolonging of the operation. He left momentarily to 'borrow' a drill, and once he returned he set upon his sibling's wound once again. He had cut into her thigh and removed the first nail easily. Now he drilled one and a half millimeters into her femur to remove the second. He could only guess at the pain Max would feel once she awakened, and doubted that even the morphine he had acquired at the hospital would be enough.

After two hours he was done, and he looked over the stitched-up injury with a bit of pride in medical skills that he had not used in years. _Well, it'll definitely do,_ he decided. Had Max had less than her genetically enhanced healing process, he knew she would likely never again walk without a limp. Manticore creations proved to be far more resilient, however. In a short time her augmented stem cells would repair the damage. She just had to remain safe until then. _It's a damn good thing I have somewhere safe to bring her. If anyone found her in this condition, crippled and doped up, she wouldn't stand a chance._

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Max's first thought was that something was very wrong. Her senses seemed... dulled, somehow. _I've been drugged,_ she realized. Her mind immediately began to race along, trying to figure out where she was and who had drugged her. _Am I going to be interrogated? Tortured?_ She strained to remember any details, but kept coming back to Rory. The last thing she remembered was him putting her under for what should have been a relatively quick and easy operation. _Did something go wrong? Did the apartment get attacked?_

As great as her disorientation was, she still knew that she was not at home. She tried to look around, but the room she was in was dark, and her vision was distorted too greatly to be of any use. The scent was completely wrong, though, but somehow familiar. _Oh my God, I'm back at Manticore!_ She started to struggle to rise, but found that she was tied down. _Settle yourself, soldier,_ she chided herself. _Think strategically._

She began to focus on her surroundings once again, trying to figure out what had happened. _Wait, that's not the smell of Manticore,_ she realized. _It's different, almost homey._ As she breathed in more fully her sense of smell began to return to her a slight bit and she started to feel at ease, almost laughing at herself once she recognized the scent.

"Are you okay, Max?" she heard a familiar voice ask.

"Yeah, sure," she replied evenly. "Why am I here?"

"Rory needed someplace safe to bring you."

"So am I one of the helpless people you're protecting now, Logan?"

"Right now, yes, you are," Logan replied. "You mind if I turn on the light?"

"Not at all." Max fought to get control of her body, to will her senses to work at peak efficiency despite the lingering effects of the drugs. She slowly moved again, and began to notice a dull ache coming from her right leg. The light came on, and Max found herself lying in Logan's guestroom, her body strapped down and her leg wrapped in a heavy bandage.

"So, are you okay?" Logan repeated as he came to her bedside and unfastened the straps. Max guessed she had been strapped down to prevent her from moving around too much in her sleep.

"I guess I'm alright," Max answered. "My leg hurts a bit."

"That'll pass," Rory said as he strode into the room. "You've been out for twelve hours, which means you're well on your way to recovery. The injury was worse than I had guessed. One of the nails had embedded itself in your femur."

"So you had to do some drilling," Max surmised. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Logan wince, but she disregarded his reaction with amusement. "How deep?" she asked nonchalantly, knowing her indifferent attitude would only shock Logan more.

"One and a half, maybe two millimeters," Rory said. "It went quickly and easily. The flesh should be mended within another day, and the bone should be as good as new within twenty-four hours after that."

"Great," Max said enthusiastically. She was already thinking of ways to go about discovering what had gone wrong in the alley. She had been hurt, and that meant someone was going to be punished. Severely.

"Why don't you stay around here until you're ready to get going again?" Logan suggested. "You'll be safe here, and I could sure use the company."

"I have to go down to the waterfront and meet with someone," Rory said quickly. Max guessed that Rory would have said anything to get out of the apartment just then. He walked out, and Max immediately began to rip into Logan.

"I don't need any protection, you know," she said evenly, glaring into his eyes.

"I know," Logan replied. "You've become quite the bad-ass soldier."

"Oh, and let me guess, you have a problem with me being all that I can be?"

"I have a problem with you murdering people," Logan shot back, not missing a beat. "I respect your goal, but your methods are abhorrent."

"Abhorrent?" Max asked. "What, are you using word of the day toilet paper now or something?" Logan suddenly smiled, instantly draining the tension from the confrontation and throwing Max completely off-guard. "What's so funny?"

"I forgot just how razor-sharp your wit can be, Max," he said, taking a deep breath before he continued, almost as if he was steeling himself for what he was about to say. The obvious effort put Max on guard. "I've missed you."

"Really?" Max answered, not knowing how else to respond. _Well, if you missed me so damned much, then why the hell didn't you ever come looking for me?_ she asked silently. Max knew that would be a bad thing to say, so she searched for something more friendly. "I'll bet that was hard to say."

"Not as hard as it would have been to watch you leave again without having told you." Max could tell that Logan was straining to say every word. He hated putting his feelings out in the open almost as much as she did.

"I'm sorry I just left like that," Max muttered.

"I'm sorry I told you to go," Logan replied. Several minutes of silence followed as each of them avoided eye contact while all the while working to make it seem as if they were not doing so purpose. _Should I say something?_ Max wondered. _He opened himself up by admitting he missed me. Of course, I did apologize first._ She thought for another minute. _Yeah, it's definitely his turn to speak._

"Is it even possible for us to make a friendship work again somehow?" Logan asked almost on cue.

"You mean the way it used to be?" Max felt a slight twinge of excitement at the thought, but didn't stop to wonder at its meaning. She was a soldier – sentiment had no place in her life. It would only confuse her.

"Yeah, can it be the way it used to be?"

"Can you accept what I do?"

"No."

"Then I guess we can't be friends," Max stated for the both of them. _I guess we were actually right when we called it quits a year ago._

"We can't just leave it like this," Logan said, his voice almost pleading. Max had never heard him speak like this, and she could feel her heart pouring out to him.

"Why not?"

"You have to realize what you're doing is wrong," Logan said.

"According to who?" Max asked with amusement. "The state is incapable of bringing order to its streets and security to its citizens. I'm a product of the state, so not only do I have every right to do what I'm doing, I have the responsibility."

"You're not an all-knowing super-being," Logan replied. "Who do you think you are, passing judgment on people?"

"I'm Justice," Max shot back, hardly thinking any more before she spoke. "I know you've heard of me. I punish those that prey on others."

"You're out of control."

"Just because you don't understand me doesn't mean I'm out of control," Max spat. "Remember that I was designed with an I.Q. at least eighty points higher than yours. Don't even try to pretend you can fathom everything I do."

"I understand that you've gone ahead and turned yourself into everything Lydecker ever wanted you to be."

"What?" Max said with a gasp. Logan's words hit her like a brick, and even as she began to gather the breath necessary to argue the point, she struggled to find something to say. She couldn't.

"You never even realized it, did you?" Logan asked quietly, seeming to enjoy that the shouting had ended.

"Like I said, don't even pretend to understand me," Max replied, her voice hardly more than a whisper. To her heightened senses, though, it sounded as if she were shouting. _Yep, the drugs are definitely wearing off._ "I have to go," she said quickly, pushing herself into a sitting position.

"You're in no condition to leave yet," Logan said.

"I'll be fine," Max answered. "I can walk without opening the stitches. That's all that's required of me right now. It's not like I'm planning to rush back into battle."

"You'll be vulnerable," Logan pointed out. "The pain alone-"

"- is controllable," Max finished for her acquaintance. She rose to her feet, gritting her teeth as she limped toward Logan's door.

"If you ever need to talk, I'll be here," he said.

"I'll remember that," Max replied, wondering why she was grateful for the offer. _I don't need to talk to someone who's going to spend all of his time judging me. Who does he think he is, anyway?_ Then she suddenly remembered his words – _Who do you think you are, passing judgment on people?_ She wondered if she was, in effect, any better than he was. _No, it's different,_ she told herself. _He just doesn't understand. This is what you were meant to do._

"It's not too late to go back," Logan said as Max opened the door. "You can always change."

"No, I can't," Max replied, noting the sadness in her voice. "I can't ever go back to the way I was. I've gone too far, Logan. I'm not the same person anymore."

"There's still a piece of you that remembers," Logan said. "I can still see that gleam in your eye, the carefree, fun-as-hell woman you used to be. Why don't you just stay here for another twelve hours?"

"Because I have to go," Max said. _Before you can really get me thinking about what I've been doing,_ she added silently. "I'll see you around."

"You promise?"

"Yes, Logan, I promise."

__

To be continued.............................


	4. The Point of No Return

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

The Point of No Return

_Another alley, another drug deal,_ Justice thought grimly. _And once again, here I am on the rooftop above. With as long as I've been doing this, you'd think someone would have figured out to post a lookout where he can see above the alley._ She took a shallow breath in anticipation of the fall, and stepped off the roof. Even as she plummeted, Justice was formulating a plan of attack.

There were five men below, all of them huddled in shadows and speaking inaudibly. Were it not for the fact that they were where they were, at the time they were there, Justice would have simply passed them by. But not in this neighborhood. Not at this time of the night. _One dealer, two guards, and two buyers._ Justice had done this type of job a hundred times. This would be easy. _Unless there's another briefcase down there,_ she thought nervously.

She hit the ground in a roll and swept the feet out from under one of the guards. He fell awkwardly, his head cracking sickeningly on the pavement. _One guard, one dealer, and two buyers._ A split second later, her leg thrust out in a kick into the other guard's knee, and he crumpled in agony. _One dealer, two buyers._ Rising to her feet, Justice punched one of the buyers in the chest, audibly cracking his sternum but not doing enough damage to endanger his life. _One dealer, one buyer._ While the buyers fed the dealers, they were simply slaves to their addictions, and not the true leeches that the dealers were. Justice always saved the true criminals for last, so that she could give them her undivided attention. A quick elbow to the second buyer's forehead rendered him unconscious, and Justice followed up on the second bodyguard, clubbing him over the head with a sap. _Okay, just one dealer._ She heard shuffling feet behind her, and knew without looking that her last victim was trying to escape. _They always try to escape,_ she thought with disappointment. _It would be a fun change to have one or two hold their ground at least once in awhile._

A flick of her wrist brought a throwing knife into her hand, and Justice considered making quick work of her small-time prey. What she wanted even more than temporary satisfaction was information, and she doubted she would find any with her current victims. She dropped the knife, though, deciding instead to get back into the swing of things with a good old-fashioned ass kicking. In a blur of motion Justice had caught her prey, grasping him firmly and turning him to face her. The moment of shock prevented her from reacting as she should have. "Dis is not your lucky night, mon," the dealer muttered as he slashed desperately with a knife. Justice stepped back quickly, but not quickly enough. The blade bit through her hood and scratched her left cheek. She could feel the trickling of blood on her skin as she launched a backhand strike at the bridge of the dealer's nose, breaking it with a satisfying crunch. The man slumped over, immediately wheezing while he tried to see through the bloody haze that had fallen over his sight.

Having her victim prone, though, Justice took a step back, wondering if she should, or more to the point, could, finish the job. Her righteous anger had faded as soon as she had seen Herbal Thought looking back at her, and now she wondered how to handle the situation. _Well, obviously he's started dealing rather than simply dabbling as a recreational user,_ she decided. _That merits punishment, but can I really put the beat down on Herbal?_ There was simply too much to think about, and not enough time to do it. She shook her head and ran off, resolving not to mete out justice on someone she knew. She just could not bring herself to cross that line.

-------------------------------------------------

Max's body was still trembling as she shrugged her thin body out of her outfit. _I would have killed Herbal,_ she thought in horror, remembering how close she had come to simply throwing her knife to end the encounter. _How many times have he and I talked to each other? How much advice has he given me? How much do I know I could count on him to help me out sometime, even after not seeing him for a year?_ Every question she asked herself only made her feel worse.

As she looked at her cut face in the mirror, a new thought came to her – _have I actually accidentally killed anyone I know?_ She remembered Sketchy's short-lived employment as a courier for some thugs and admitted that if he had fallen in with the wrong crowd once again, she might have inadvertently killed him. It was a certainty that she had not seen the face of every person she had killed in the past year. There had been times she had judged a whole building full of people guilty, and simply demolished it rather than take the time to go inside to kill each person individually, up close and personal, putting herself at greater risk. _What if Original Cindy had another friend get out of jail?_ Max wondered. _What if that friend started to stray, and Cindy followed behind into danger to help her out? I could have blown her up, too._ That thought was too much for even Max's increasingly callous soul to bear. "Get it together, soldier," Max muttered, hoping the sound of her own voice would help to calm her. It didn't.

Switching tactics, Max resolved to simply give herself something to do. She reached into the medicine cabinet and started threading a needle to sew her face back up. A quick examination of the thin laceration below her left eye allowed her to decide that she would only need one stitch, and she knew that if she went to a hospital they would likely only give her some butterfly bandages. It was, in the end, only a scratch, and she decided it would likely not even leave much of a visible scar. It would likely only be visible to someone who knew it was there. Discarding the stitch for a simple Band-Aid, Max trudged out of the bathroom and went directly into the kitchen. _I think I need another one of my less-than-famous milkshakes,_ she decided. _Only this time I think I'll omit the milk and the shake._

She unscrewed the bottle of rum and took a long swig, only to grimace in disgust. She thought it strange that liquor which mixed so well with so many other drinks would taste so absolutely repellent on its own. _Time to spend some time with Mr. Stolichnaya, then._ She placed the bottle of rum back in the cabinet and took out the bottle of vodka. This time, she was far more satisfied as she began to drain the bottle, taking long gulps that slightly burned her throat on the way down. Max had never truly been hammered before, and she wondered if alcohol could make her completely forget her problems as well as some of her acquaintances had always claimed. It seemed like as good as time as any to find out.

A few quick strides brought Max into the living room, and picking up her stereo remote she selected a random track. It would be left to fate to decide her mood. Immediately a high-pitched middle-aged woman's voice blared out of the speakers, and Max hurriedly hit a button with disgust. There was no way in hell she would listen to Christina Aguilera's so-called comeback album. _How the hell did that get in there, anyway?_ She could only think that Rory had sneaked it into her stereo as a prank. Within seconds another song came up, and she was surprised to hear what Bling had once referred to as 'classic Seattle rock.' The particular selection was a song called 'Hero,' by the Foo-Fighters. _That seems just a little too relevant,_ Max thought, suddenly giving up on music and turning off the stereo.

She wondered how she could even deal with her inner turmoil. It went much further than simply coming face to face with an old friend. It was more than the fact that she had almost killed that friend. Max decided that what truly concerned her was that she had let her friend go. For the past year she had steeled her resolve, endeavoring to mold her personality into something as inhuman as her body. She had wanted to be dark and ruthless, as cold and strong as iron, but discovered that she had not achieved the success she had thought. _Maybe I was wrong when I told Logan that I had already gone too far. But that would mean that he was right._ As she shook off the thought, a thin smirk formed on her lips despite herself. She remembered an old quandary – what was worse, her being wrong, or him being right? _So if I can go back, do I really want to? And if I do want to, does that mean what I've been doing this whole time is wrong, just like Logan has been saying?_

Her head started to swim as she realized that the alcohol she was drinking was finally beginning to hit her. _So if what I've been doing is wrong, how can I even begin to atone for my sins?_ The flurry of questions made her get a headache, and Max threw the half-empty bottle of vodka into a corner, smashing it. "No, I need to be able to think. No sense running away from what you are, Maxie."

"Strike true, Peter Pan," a voice responded from the doorway.

"Rory?" Max asked, falling back a half step into a makeshift fighting stance. It was the best she could muster as her coordination continued to fade right along with her sobriety. "How did you get in here?"

"Do you really have to ask?" he countered with a mischievous grin. _He almost always has that stupid, shit-eating grin,_ Max noted. _What the hell is he always so damned happy about? What makes him so special?_

"Come on in," Max said, making a wide gesture of greeting. Already forgetting that she had decided to once again embrace sobriety, she walked back into the kitchen, deciding that perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea after all to drink the rum straight. She gazed at Rory as she undid the cap and took another long guzzle of the rum, surprised at how much smoother it was than she remembered.

"You must be drunker than you look if you think that tastes good," Rory commented. He closed the door, walked into the living room, and sat down on the couch, putting his feet up comfortably on her coffee table.

"Make yourself at home," Max said.

"Something happened out there, didn't it?" Rory surmised. Max only nodded her head in affirmation. "So what's eating you up inside?"

"I don't know if I've been doing the right thing all this time," Max said, summing up all of her confusion in a single sentence.

"Well then that's something we're going to have to remedy," Rory said smoothly.

__

To be continued.............................


	5. A Spider and Her Web

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

A Spider and Her Web

Shinji Minamoto pushed the button for the 27th floor and waited patiently as the elevator brought him up to his latest meeting. He was certain his sister would be interested in the information he had procured. The ride was short, and the elevator doors parted to reveal an opulently decorated hallway. Only two people – Shinji and his sister, Himiko – occupied the 27th floor. _Well, I guess you could also count the guards,_ Shinji mused absently. He discarded the thought, though. Guards were irrelevant – everyone in the building had them.

Construction on Walden Tower had been completed a few years before the Pulse, and its state of the art security system, breathtaking views, and central location had immediately placed it in high demand. Shinji's father had been at the top of the waiting list for an apartment, and had decided to buy the entire 27th floor. Such indulgences were the privilege of software tycoons. Indeed, their one upstairs neighbor was Bill Gates, the retired software engineer that had bought the top three floors just in case he ever needed a comfortable place to stay when visiting Seattle.

Since their father's death, Shinji and his sister had divided the floor between them, with her getting the lion's share of the space. It was fitting, though. Shinji found that comfortable surroundings only distracted him, and it was true that his sister did most of the work. He was little more than a specialist called in to deal with specific problems. Vigilantism was one of those problems.

He put his passcard into the reader and opened the door into his sister's apartment. As usual, it was lit only by dim red lights. Shinji knew his sister's eyes were more light sensitive than was normal, but he had always felt her predilection for lighting her living space like a cave was for appearances as much as anything else. Two guards nodded their heads in respect, but Shinji continued on without bothering to respond. He was not there to socialize.

He approached the ornately carved wooden doors that opened into his sister's private office and knocked softly. The doors opened immediately and Shinji was met with the sight of his sister's unoccupied desk sitting across the dark room, spotlighted in more dim red lights. Large potted plants cast uneasy shadows across the room, and the only sound was that of the trickling of water in a stone fountain in the corner. Shinji had always wondered how much it had cost to move that fountain from their family's estate outside Kobe and install it in the apartment in Seattle. It had seemed unnecessary, but such inexplicable desires were one of his sister's defining characteristics.

"Himiko?" Shinji called out. He thought he caught a slight bit of movement off to his left, behind a group of large ferns, but then he heard his sister call out from his right. He attributed the movement to his cousin, Hideki. He was his sister's personal bodyguard and last line of defense, as well as being one of the deadliest assassins in the world.

"I trust by your presence that you acquired the information I wanted," his sister commented as she walked lightly toward her desk. She placed a thick book on its surface, and then gazed at her brother.

"Of course," Shinji replied. "It seemed your sources from South Africa were correct. The American government did indeed fund a project known as Manticore."

"A super soldier program," Himiko commented. "Great. Were you able to verify that there was an escape ten years ago?"

"I don't know if 'verify' is the proper word," Shinji explained. "We're talking about a top secret American program. This isn't something you can verify. However, I was able to find several sources that are in agreement on the issue. Approximately ten years ago, anywhere between six and twenty of these soldiers escaped. The exact numbers are in dispute."

"Anything else?"

"Yes," Shinji replied. "These escapees seem to have been referred to as X-5. My sources seem to be in agreement that this is a designation of generation."

"So there's no telling how many of them there are."

"I have heard rumors of X-6 and X-7 generations," Shinji said. "So however many of these X-5's escaped, it seems the event was not crippling enough to end the program."

"Interesting," Himiko muttered. She sat back in her chair, and Shinji knew his sister was contemplating everything that she had just learned. He sat in silence across from her, wondering what she was pondering, but knowing that the attempt was less than futile. At the age of six, his sister had already begun college-level algebra, and by nine she had received her first college degree. By thirteen she had received doctorates in mathematics, computer engineering, and biochemistry. Many academics considered Himiko the brightest person in her generation, and she had been expected to follow in the tradition of Einstein and Hawking. Then their father had been killed by the Yakuza after refusing to give up a portion of his business. Himiko had sworn vengeance, and had achieved her goal within two short years. Then the Pulse had come. The old rules of the world had fallen by the wayside, and not only in America, but all across the globe the old axiom that 'might makes right' became truer every day. Shinji and Himiko found themselves with an advantage – they had a newly built organization of assassins, gun runners, drug dealers, and money launderers. Rather than return to her academic life, as she had originally planned, Himiko had taken over the family business, using her strength within both the legitimate world and the criminal underworld to gain power and wealth. Now she was known on the streets as The Spider, and known in corporate boardrooms as the last person any executive ever wanted to see. _And she did it all without ever attracting undue attention,_ Shinji marveled. She might have made a fantastic scientist, but as a criminal and corporate kingpin, he doubted anyone had, or ever would, be her equal.

"Let's see what you brought," Himiko commented as she opened the files that Shinji had placed in front of her. She seemed to skim over the words, but Shinji knew that his sister had committed to memory everything she had seen in those few brief minutes. "This Manticore program appears to have been thorough," she said.

"Very," Shinji agreed.

"From everything you have here, I would have to agree that we are up against one of these Manticore soldiers," Himiko stated. "The video surveillance records we have show Justice moving at an inhumanly fast speed. From the beating she took from our exploding briefcase trap, we also know she has augmented healing capacity. Otherwise she would not have been back on the streets within seventy hours."

"And she can apparently see in the dark," Shinji pointed out.

"Indeed. Yes, it appears that Justice is something more than human. The question that presents itself, then, is whether this is one of the program's escapees, or whether Manticore has assigned one of its own to the city."

"What?" Shinji asked, not having expected this tangent.

"The United States government has a vested interest in regaining control of its cities," Himiko pointed out. "It makes sense that they might use one of these soldiers to pursue that goal."

"But why only one?" Shinji asked. "Wouldn't a team of these soldiers be more effective?"

"Of course it would," Himiko agreed, "and it's also unlikely that, even if only one were used, that it would be assigned to Seattle. It would make far more sense to deploy the individual in New York, Boston, or Washington. In the whole scheme of things, those cities are considered more tactically valuable, and all of them are in far worse shape than Seattle as far as crime goes."

"So you think it's an escapee?"

"I do," Himiko stated. "One of them seems to have settled in the city, and has taken to doing what she presumably does best. She's a soldier, and she's waging a war."

"So now what?" Shinji asked.

"Well, we now know who our enemy is, and that is an important step. We have a good idea of what she can do, as well." Shinji nodded in understanding. Himiko had arranged to have three warehouses thoroughly rigged with hidden cameras, and then had allowed word to get out that there were drug-producing activities going on. Predictably, Justice had shown up to deal with the problem, and Himiko had gotten detailed recordings of her foe's capabilities, strategies, and tendencies.

"So we set a trap?" Shinji guessed.

"Not exactly," Himiko explained. "We tried that once before, in the alley. I would have been more than happy to trade off all of those people for one dead genetically engineered vigilante, but I'm not willing to take another loss for nothing in return. We'll control the time and place of our next encounter with Justice, but I'm not going to risk my own assets needlessly this time. Recruitment is getting too expensive."

"I see," Shinji replied, though he had no idea what his sister was up to.

"Talk to some of your people, and get word out that Rico is about to make a move to increase his power," Himiko instructed.

"Rico?" Shinji asked. Ricardo Rico was the only criminal in the city that could still challenge Himiko's position, and she had usually treaded lightly around the man in order to avoid a confrontation she could not be assured of winning.

"Yes, Rico," Himiko said evenly. "Be discreet, of course, but be convincing. Make certain that the rumor is all over the city by dawn."

"Of course."

"Then, once you are done getting that rumor circulating, I have some very important information for you to acquire."

"What kind of information?" Shinji asked curiously.

"The expensive kind," Himiko answered. "And keep in mind that you'll not only be paying for the information, but for the silence of those that sell it to you. If you doubt their ability to remain silent, you will have to dispose of them."

"I understand," Shinji replied, realizing that his sister finally seemed to be making a major move. What surprised him, however, was not that she was planning on getting rid of Justice, but that she also seemed to have something planned for Rico. Shinji guessed at how dangerous his sister's scheme was, but he had confidence in her. He had seen the information on the X-5's, and though they were certainly smarter than any average human, they still fell short of his sister. _Leave it to nature to come up with a prodigy that puts science to shame._

To be continued.............................


	6. Introspection

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

Author's Note: Special thanks go out to **Brynn McK**, who beta read a part of this section. Her comments helped me make this better than it ever would have been otherwise.

****

Introspection

Max was hit with a jolt of pain as she opened her eyes; her first coherent thought was that she was going to puke. She sat bolt upright in her bed, leapt up to her feet, and dashed across the room, making it to the bathroom toilet just in time to heave her guts.

"Good morning," she heard Rory call out cheerfully from another room. His pleasant tone made Max want to throttle him, but she didn't dare leave the bathroom yet. She knew she was not quite done. Max's body shook with a strange chill, and she suddenly realized that the room was spinning. Leaning forward, she grasped the edges of the toilet as her body retched again. This time she produced nothing but dry heaves, and while she was thankful that there was no more bile coming up to burn the back of her throat, she was not certain that the agony of regurgitating nothing was worth it.

"You almost done?" Rory asked as he walked up to the door.

"I think so," Max replied, not daring to look up from the toilet.

"Good, because I made some breakfast," Rory replied. "Bacon and fried eggs, over easy."

"Fried eggs?" Max asked.

"Yep, and they're all runny and everything," Rory answered. Max felt herself start to gag again, and two full minutes of dry heaves followed as Rory stood passively over her.

"Get out," she growled, furious that Rory would be cruel enough to torment her with the thought of runny eggs.

"Fine," Rory replied. "I just wanted to make sure you were done, though. This time, I think you are."

"Great," Max replied.

"First hangover?" Max could only shake her head in confirmation. "Well then, get into the shower and stay there for a little bit," Rory advised. "I'm gonna get some stuff together for your recovery while you're in there."

Max did as she was told and found that the shower's cool water running down over her skin felt like the most wonderful sensation she had ever experienced. She finally turned off the water and moved to get out, but realized immediately that as soon as the water had stopped, her headache and nausea returned. _Oh God, I'll never, ever drink again. I swear it. Just don't let me die._ She turned the water back on, only to hear Rory's voice a moment later.

"That's enough," he said sternly. "That water, as cool as it feels, is still warm enough to make your skin sweat a little, and that's only dehydrating you more." He handed Max a towel and moved out of the bathroom; a minute later Max staggered out to join him in the small kitchen.

"What did I drink last night?" she asked.

"Pretty much everything you had left," Rory answered. "According to what you told me last night, that included a bottle of vodka, a third of a bottle of rum, and a bottle of butterscotch schnapps." Max felt her stomach start to churn slightly as she thought about the schnapps. Hearing about it, her mind vaguely recalled having drunk it, and her body was involuntarily revolting at the memory.

"Why did you let me do that?" she asked miserably.

"You didn't seem to want me to stop you," Rory replied. "A little bit of self-destructiveness can be good now and then."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, you got a few hours where you felt fine and didn't have to think about your problems," Rory answered. "And now you feel like hell, so there's pretty much nothing you can do but sit around and let your body recover. While you do that, it seems you'll finally be forced to face your situation. That's a good thing."

"I hate you," Max muttered.

"That doesn't bother me, you know."

"Great," Max replied. "So what about that stuff you said will help me feel better?"

"Ah yes, that," Rory said with a smile that made Max want to throttle him. He gestured Max out into the living room, and then followed with three tablets and a tall glass filled with a liquid that was a disturbing shade of purple. "First take a few sips of the drink," Rory instructed. "If your body can't even keep that down, then there's no sense in taking the pills yet."

"What is it all?" Max asked suspiciously. She doubted that Rory would drug her, but after a year of playing Justice virtually every night, she had developed a bit of paranoia.

"The liquid is Pedia-Lite," Rory answered. "Grape flavor, to be precise. Two of the tablets are ibuprofen, and the other is multi-vitamin." Max looked closely at the tablets, and saw that one of them was small and purple, and shaped as something she didn't recognize. "That's Dino," Rory said, apparently reacting to Max's puzzled gaze. Max didn't recognize the name at all. "Haven't you ever heard of the Flintstones?" Rory asked. "I know it was before our time and all, but seriously..."

"I've heard of them," Max answered. "I've just never eaten a vitamin that was shaped like anything but a pill."

"Sorry, it's all I had," Rory answered.

"You eat Flintstones vitamins?" Max asked dubiously, waiting for some kind of punchline to a joke.

"Yes, I do," Rory answered with a sheepish smile. "One Barney and one Wilma to start the day, and I'm set. You have a problem with that?"

"Not at all," Max answered, venturing a few small sips of the Pedia-Lite. The taste was bland and held a faint hint of something that was strangely akin to grape. The flavor was not something she would describe as good, but it was tolerable. "You sure this is gonna work?"

"Absolutely," Rory assured her. "You should really have drunk the Pedia-Lite before going to bed, but you sorta passed out all at once."

"I'll remember it next time, though," Max promised. Silence followed for a long while as Max hesitantly drank larger and larger sips, and then finally mustered the courage to take the ibuprofen and her vitamin.

"Give it a few hours," Rory said. "You should be feeling much better by noon, and I think you'll be able to stomach a full dinner by tonight."

"I guess it was a good thing you were here to take care of me," Max commented, pulling her knees up to her chest as she leaned back against the arm of the couch. "I would never have known how to deal with a hangover. You get these a lot?"

"No," Rory replied. "I've only had one in my life, and I decided I would stop drinking then and there."

"And you haven't drunk since?"

"Maybe an occasional beer here and there, but no more heavy drinking," Rory clarified. "But enough about my drinking habits. I think we should start discussing what you've been doing."

"I don't know that it's any of your business," Max replied evenly. "Until you showed up here a year ago, no one had seen hide nor hair of you for ten years. You never bothered to tell me what you'd been doing, so I don't know why I should bare my soul to you now."

"You want to hear my life story?" Rory asked. "Would that make you happy?"

"Well, it would make me more willing to talk with you," Max answered, "though I don't know if it would make me happy. I don't know if I know how to be happy anymore."

"I'm sorry," Rory said. The very tone of his voice made Max's heart ache even as she felt a brief flash of comfort at having someone care about her again. It seemed as though it had been too long... "When was the last time you were happy?" Rory asked.

"I couldn't tell you," Max replied honestly. She searched her memory for something... anything... that stuck out as being a good memory. The last satisfying thing she had done was convince Lydecker to stay out of Seattle, but not even that made her happy. It was simply the result of a properly executed plan, and that was not reason for celebration. _I don't think I've really been happy since that night Logan made dinner for me,_ she realized. _And of course, that whole night turned into a fiasco._ Thinking of Logan, though, she became aware of the fact that she had been happy once lately, though very briefly. When she had awakened in Logan's apartment, after Rory brought her there to recover, she had experienced a moment of something she could only refer to as bliss. Then she and Logan had started talking, and she had ended up walking out again. The memory hurt her.

"So, if nothing else we have to figure out a way for you to find a little happiness," Rory announced, as if it were something that could simply be placed on Max's 'to do' list.

"And maybe we can start by having you tell me a nice story," Max said with a wicked grin, returning them to the topic she had wanted to get to. "You didn't think I'd let you weasel out of telling me what happened after the escape, did you?"

"Well, I had hoped," Rory replied with a smile. "Lean back, Maxie, and let me tell you a story," Rory said warmly, his voice tinged with the same caring tone that Max had always found in Logan's voice. Just the sound of his words made her feel warm and safe.

"As you know, we got the order to escape," Rory said needlessly. "I made it to the perimeter and ran through the woods for a couple of minutes until I came to a road. There was a car, and it stopped. The man behind the wheel gestured for me to get in."

"This sounds a little familiar," Max commented. "I was picked up by a nurse. Must have been a shift change going on or something, I guess. I think she was even more nervous about the whole thing than I was."

"Lucky you," Rory said. "If a woman had stopped for me, I would have been more at ease. The man that stopped was fairly large. I wondered whether I would be able to defend myself in the close confines of the car if he turned out to be an enemy."

"But he wasn't an enemy," Max surmised.

"No, he wasn't," Rory agreed. "He got me out of the area, and it turned out he was a geneticist. He was one of the ones that actually put us all together. Anyway, he told me later that he had always been able to deal with the work he did because he never really had to face the reality of his efforts. But seeing me, and realizing what Lydecker and the others did to us... well, he decided not to go back."

"Then what happened?" Max asked. She was amused at how much like a child she seemed, hanging on Rory's every word. In the back of her mind she realized that to a small extent she was happy again. The conversation – the give and take with another person, and the fact that the likely result of the exchange would not be her killing the other individual – it all made her feel completely at ease. She had never noticed how much she had missed simple things, such as talking with a friend. _I guess it's true when they say that people really shouldn't become isolated._

"Well, both of us needed a way to disappear from the face of the earth," Rory continued. "So the man – his name was Dr. Patrick Quinn, in case you ever run into him – drove us to a monastery. The brothers took us both in, and Dr. Quinn took a vow of silence until he decided he was ready to talk about the things he'd done."

"That seems a little drastic," Max commented.

"Maybe," Rory said, "but it suited him just fine. I think the entire change in lifestyle was just what he needed. At the monastery we had a simple life, waking up early, working in gardens and fields throughout the day, and eating a hearty dinner. Sure as hell beat morning drills, though I have to admit I did most of my training exercises anyway. I mean, I really didn't know what else I could do, since I hadn't ever known anything but Manticore. Then, just as I was getting settled into my new life, the Pulse hit."

"So you left?" Max asked.

"No, we both stayed," Rory answered, but if you remember, people of Middle Eastern descent weren't exactly popular at the time. A few Muslim holy men came to the monastery, and they were granted entrance. Then, after a Buddhist monastery burned down a couple of hundred miles away, some Shaolin monks came to live with us, too. The monastery became a melting pot of ideas, cultures, and faiths."

"And let me guess, one of the Shaolin priests was like that Cain guy from Kung-Fu, and he taught you to be a master," Max said with a grin.

"Actually, yes," Rory replied, seeming thoroughly pleased as he watched Max's jaw drop in shock. "But it wasn't the martial arts training that I loved. It was the days full of contemplation, and the nights rich with discussion and reading. I got an education in philosophy and religion that's probably unequaled in the world, while all the time being left to train myself physically, both with my Manticore routines, and my new martial arts exercises."

"And all this while most of the rest of us were struggling to survive on the streets," Max said jealously. "I don't know if that's quite fair."

"It probably isn't," Rory admitted, "but that's just the way it was. I happened to have a safe environment surrounded by people that not only cared about me, but took it as their responsibility to educate and train me."

"And what about Dr. Quinn?" Max asked curiously.

"Yes, I learned from him, too," Rory replied, seeming to have guessed exactly what Max was wondering.

"So you know things about us."

"I do," Rory answered. "I know every species that was included in our transgenic blueprint. I know each of the genes involved, and I know why they were included and where in the DNA strand they were spliced. I probably have a better idea of our capabilities than Lydecker has. I even have some thoughts on training methods to improve us that I'll bet he hasn't even thought of, yet."

"Such as?" Max asked curiously.

"That's a discussion for another time," Rory said. "Right now, though, we're going to talk about you."

"What about me?" Max asked.

"We have to find a way to make you happy," Rory reminded her.

"Being happy is overrated," Max said, sitting up straight. "I don't need to be happy."

"Every being has a right to be happy," Rory replied quickly. "Don't fool yourself."

"I have responsibilities," Max shot back. "You're the one that pointed that out to me and got me started on this crusade of mine. Now you're going to tell me I'm wrong?"

"Your goal is the right one," Rory said calmly. "We both know that we were made for a purpose, and that given the environment in which we live, fighting for the happiness of others seems our proper destiny."

"So what's the deal?" Max asked. "Am I wrong, or not?"

"Your goal is right, but your methods need some adjustment," Rory replied. "You said last night when you were drunk that you had almost killed a friend of yours. Did that make you happy?"

"Of course not," Max said.

"So have you thought about a way of addressing your lifestyle?" Rory asked. "Maybe you could find happiness for yourself and others by simply toning down the violence."

"Toning it down?" Max asked skeptically. "Like, maybe punch a guy here and there? That won't get it done."

"Why not?" Rory asked. "So you've been going out there killing bad guys left and right. Has that cut down on crime?"

"Not yet."

"Well, has it at least cut down on the number of criminals?"

"Not exactly," Max admitted.

"So just what is it that you've gained?" Rory asked. Max only replied with silence. "Maxie, before I left Seattle the first time, I advised you never to stop questioning anything, but that's exactly what you've done. You've stopped questioning why your methods are not meeting with success."

"I just haven't been working hard enough," Max growled. "If I increase my efforts, my enemies will back down."

"No, your enemies will just get more creative, like they did in the alley," Rory answered.

"What?" Max asked, surprised by this tangent in the conversation.

"The nails in the briefcase were barbed," Rory pointed out. "That's why I had to do all that drilling. I think that explosion was meant for you. That way, even if you somehow escaped being killed, you'd likely end up crippled, and in the whole scheme of things, that would have been just as good. Any of the other criminals in that alley, if they survived, would have been able to his job with a serious physical infirmity... all except for you."

"No, that can't be right."

"It makes sense, though, doesn't it?" Rory asked. "Someone decided to sacrifice a few of their people to remove you from the equation. They figure that they can deal with the police, but not with someone that has no rules."

"And maybe they're right," Max answered. "That's why I'm needed. I can do the types of things that the cops can't."

"But you're making yourself no better than them in the process."

"Maybe not, but I'm saving lives," Max shot back. "I've made a difference."

"And you'll get killed much sooner as a result," Rory said. "What do you think the cops will do if they ever get their hands on you?"

"They won't," Max said confidently.

"And how are you so sure of that?" Rory asked. "You willing to cut a few of them down, too, if they ever corner you?" Max was stunned into silence, faced with a question she had never really pondered. "You couldn't do it, could you?"

"No," Max admitted.

"Well, that's good at least," Rory said. "But remember that there are two groups of cops looking for you. One group is made up of all the guys on the take that are being paid to take you out if they ever get a chance, so as to help out the criminals that are paying the bills. The second group is made up of honest cops that realize what you're doing is wrong."

"You really think I'm wrong, don't you?" Max asked.

"I do," Rory answered evenly. "I'm not trying to be judgmental or anything. I'm not condemning you for your actions, I'm just saying that I don't agree with your decisions."

"So what would you do if you were in my place? Come on, Rory, really? It's not like you ever had to live this rough life. You got to be tucked away safely in a monastery, left to your own devices to be all you could be. I had to grow up in this world, and let me tell ya – it sucks. I did what I had to do." Max stopped for a moment to search Rory for any sign of a reaction, and saw none. He looked as calm and at peace as he always did. "Seriously, Rory, tell me –what would you have done in my place?"

"You see yourself as an embodiment of justice, but justice can't be meted out by just one person," Rory said. "The concept of a jury evolved because the society that was harmed by a wrongdoer was seen as having an interest in administering a punishment on its own. Only the society itself could really know what justice was. Neither one of us is really a part of this society, Max. Sure, I spent time in a monastery, but we both spent our formative years in a military compound. You may be more a part of the world than I am, but you're still not really a part of it. We grew up isolated, Maxie, and we don't have the right perspective. Maybe some of these guys you've put down would get sentenced to death for some of the things they've done, but maybe they wouldn't. Either way, it's not our decision. We were designed to be tools, and not decision-makers. It's our lot in life."

"One more time – what would you do?" Max repeated, not bothering to hide her agitation.

"I would come up with some kind of code," Rory said. "You have to start living by some set of rules, and the closer they resemble the laws of our society, the better."

"You're kidding, right?" Max asked.

"No. Look, Max, we're effectively nothing more than ronin," Rory explained, referring to the masterless samurai of medieval Japan. "We're probably the deadliest people in the world, but we no longer have a master. We have no direction, and no honor."

"You really believe that?" Max asked.

"You really believe there's honor in killing fifteen year old drug dealers?" Rory countered. Max was unable to respond. "I'm not telling you to stop going out there to help people," Rory said. "Like you said, I'm the one that convinced you that we have a responsibility. But we have to come up some kind of a code to live by; we have to set standards for our own conduct. Otherwise we're no better than those we hunt – we're just another problem in a city that has too many problems already."

"So no more killing?" Max asked, wondering if that was a good place to start.

"I don't know," Rory replied. "Are you comfortable with a blanket rule like that?"

"No," Max admitted. "I mean, maybe it would be necessary at some point. Maybe if someone was being held at gunpoint, and I needed to be able to save them quickly... maybe a head shot would be okay in that circumstance."

"Maybe so," Rory said.

"Or maybe not," Max said. "No, there can't be any more killing, no matter what."

"Are you sure?" Rory asked. "Coloring the world in only black and white will likely lead to trouble. You'd be setting yourself up to cross the line, sooner or later. I don't think you'd want to face this whole dilemma again."

"You're right," Max admitted, turning the question around in her head once again. "Okay, killing is a last resort, and never something to be taken lightly."

"That sounds like it is as it should be," Rory commented.

"I will never again sentence anyone to death, no matter what they do," Max said.

"Good," Rory said with a smile. "That's a rule that makes sense, and it's certainly the beginning of a code. We might make something honorable of the two of us yet."

__

To be continued.............................


	7. Once You're In, You Can Never Get Out

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

Once You're In, You Can Never Get Out

Logan Cale hung up his phone slowly, his rage finally displacing the shock he had felt a couple of hours earlier. In all of his time as Eyes Only, he had never seen such a chain of events. Every bit of information he had gained had led him to believe that Ricardo Rico was making a major push for power within Seattle. Eyes Only would have to do whatever it took to push back.

A soft knock from the front door distracted Logan's attention away from his never-ending crusade, and he moved his wheelchair toward the front of the apartment, both wondering who would be stopping by unannounced, and hoping he could get rid of his guest quickly. He opened the front door and came face to face with Max. Too shocked to say a single word, Logan simply stared at his wayward friend.

"Hi," Max said, slowly shifting her weight from one foot to the other and going well out of her way to avoid making any eye contact.

"Hi," Logan muttered back. He was thankful that she had said something. At least that gave him a cue with which he could work. "What do you want?" _Jeez, that sounded bad,_ he realized immediately. Logan didn't want to seem standoffish, but he had no real idea of how he should act.

"Can I come in?" Max asked softly, still avoiding eye contact.

"Why?" Logan asked, noticing his voice seemed to hold a tinge of hostility that he had not intended.

"Can we talk?" Max asked. "Or maybe just play a game of chess?"

"Where's Rory?" Logan asked. "Why don't you just go home and play chess with him? You two seem well suited for each other." The words kept coming from Logan's lips despite the fact that he just wanted to shut up and try to be civil. He knew his brain was operating on automatic pilot, and he was powerless to stop it. He had simply envisioned this moment too many times, and in virtually every scenario he had ended up getting hurt once again. He figured that subconsciously he was probably trying to stop that from happening.

"Play chess with Rory..." Max commented, as if she was starting to seriously consider the idea. "Would you play with someone that cheats incessantly?" she asked. "Would you tolerate someone that kept talking and playing obnoxious music just to throw you off your game? Do you think you could tolerate playing against someone that was all too likely to move pieces around to gain an advantage every time you turned your back?"

"No, I guess not," Logan admitted.

"Yeah, well, neither could Rory," Max said, the faintest hint of a smile appearing at the corner of her mouth. As soon as it had appeared, it had vanished, but Logan knew it had been there.

"Was that a joke?" Logan asked.

"Did you think it was funny?"

"Sort of."

"Then it was a joke," Max replied. "Sort of." Once again the smile flashed briefly, but this time it had stayed a slight bit longer. Logan was certain that Max was trying to be friendly. The one thing he couldn't figure out was why.

"Come on in to my humble abode," he said with a flourish of his hand as he backed his wheelchair out of the doorway.

"Thanks," Max said, walking in hesitantly, as if it were her first time inside. "Is Bling around?"

"No, his brother was having car trouble, so Bling went to help him out a bit," Logan said. "Too bad you weren't here, you might have been able to help or something." _Where the hell did that come from?_ he wondered immediately, surprised that his unbidden speech had taken an abrupt turn from confrontational to ingratiating.

"Yeah, too bad," Max agreed. Her eyes were scrutinizing every detail of the living room, just as she had the first time Logan had invited her over two years earlier. Her behavior seemed strange to him, especially after she had once grown so comfortable in the apartment.

"So you said you wanted to talk?" Logan asked.

"Uh, yeah," Max replied. Logan noticed she had started to wring her hands slightly, and though she had apparently completed whatever scan of her surroundings she was accustomed to taking, she was still avoiding eye contact. _I've never seen her this nervous about anything,_ he mused. _Even the first time we met and security was facing her down, she hadn't even batted an eyelash. I wonder what's wrong._

"You want to have a seat for a few minutes?" Logan asked. "I'm planning on a report pretty soon, and I figured I'd start up the hack programs." The computer would need some time to break the latest encryption codes of the satellites he would transmit through, so that would give him at least a half-hour to talk to Max. Usually Logan would have used the time to figure out exactly what he was going to say, but he decided it would be better to spend the time with an old friend. It wasn't like he'd be able to concentrate on throwing together a report anyway as long as he was wondering what was on her mind.

"You want me to make some tea while you're busy in there?" Max offered

"Sure." Logan went into the next room and set about work. By the time he had re-emerged from his study, he could hear the whistling of his teapot on the stove.

"Perfect timing," Max commented, not bothering to turn around to see Logan. He was warmed by the familiar experience of having her talk to him when he entered a room, no matter how quiet he had ever tried to be. It was the little things, like her augmented hearing preventing him from ever being able to sneak up, that he had missed so much.

"If you look in the cabinet you'll see a collection of herbal teas," Logan suggested.

"You don't keep them all in the jar anymore?" Max asked.

"No, I just keep the regular teabags in there," Logan replied. "I make a lot of iced tea these days, so keeping the regular teabags on the counter is easier for me. I really hardly ever drink the herbal stuff anymore."

"That's too bad," Max commented. "I've always pictured you sitting in your office drinking your Lemon Zinger tea as you plot the downfall of another criminal." Logan could only smile in response. "You have anything to go with this?" Max asked.

"Not what you're probably looking for," Logan answered. He knew what she wanted – Stella D'Oro Breakfast Treats. Max had always enjoyed having them with her Almond Sunset tea, but he hadn't wanted them in his home since she had walked out. They had reminded him of her, and that was not something he liked.

"You just want the regular stuff?" Max asked.

"Sure," Logan responded, making a concerted effort to force his voice to sound as pleasant as possible. Once again he thought back to all of the times he had imagined Max coming by his apartment, and never had he guessed it would be like this. He glanced quickly at his watch – _ten minutes and we haven't had an argument yet,_ he marveled. _I never would have thought it possible._

"In the living room?" Max asked, already moving toward the coffee table where she had always sat when the two had used to talk. She slipped out of her tennis shoes as she walked, and when she sat down she curled her feet up on the couch and wrapped them in the purple afghan blanket that Logan had just received from his aunt. "What ever happened to the other blanket?" Max asked. Logan knew immediately the one she was talking about – it was a light blanket with a screen depicting a pride of lions on a plain. It had been the one Max had always used for her feet so long ago.

"I put that one away," Logan replied, knowing that Max would know what he meant. "Do you think I should take it back out again?"

"Let's not rush into anything," Max said with a thin smile. This time it stayed on her lips as she took a hesitant sip of her steaming tea.

"So what do you want to talk about?" Logan asked. When he had first seen Max at his door, he had partially expected that she had come by because of what had happened the night before. Her mood was so light, though, that he had decided it was something else entirely. Her attitude smacked of the visit being a social call, not a business meeting.

"I think I'd like to talk about us," Max said simply. She looked away from Logan and focused on her tea, as if she was searching for the meaning of life in the ripples that formed on the liquid's surface as she blew softly across it to cool it.

"Oh," Logan said awkwardly. _Ok, this still isn't going as I had expected,_ he decided.

"I was talking with Rory most of yesterday and long into the night," Max explained, "and he made me realize a lot of stuff about what I've been doing."

"Really?" Logan asked.

"Please don't interrupt," Max said quickly. "This isn't exactly easy for me."

"Oh," Logan said apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Logan," Max said softly, uttering the words Logan had never expected to hear. He doubted that Max was aware of how truly contrite and compassionate her voice sounded. He felt what he thought was the beginning of a tear welling up in his eye, but he stifled the feeling.

"Sorry for what?" Logan asked, wanting to be certain that Max was saying what he thought she was.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you," Max explained. "I'm sorry I disregarded all of you advice. Most of all, I'm sorry I walked out on you. It was probably the worst decision I've ever made in my life."

"Oh," Logan said again, unable to find any other words. _Yep, this doesn't even faintly resemble any way I've ever imagined this conversation_. He wondered briefly if he was dreaming, and tried to stand. His failure convinced him he was awake – had he been dreaming, he would have been able to walk.

"Everything I've been doing," Max said softly, "I think it could have been done better. I can't keep doing this."

"You just suddenly came to this conclusion?" Logan asked, unable to hide the cynicism in his voice. "This seems to have come out of the blue."

"I know," Max admitted. "I think I reached an epiphany, though. I've been miserable doing what I've been doing, but I ignored it all because I was convinced of the righteousness of my cause. Then I almost killed one of my friends the other night. I guess he's gotten involved in something he shouldn't have. You could say it was the camel that broke my straw back."

"I'm sorry," Logan said. "I guess that could explain the suddenness a bit."

"Yeah," Max replied. "It's okay, though. I'm gonna swing by his place in a couple of days and try to make sure he's doing alright."

"And until then?"

"I have to figure out a code of conduct for myself," Max replied. "I can't keep going out there like some avenging angel of death."

"I know," Logan said. _And what do you plan to do about all of the deaths that are already on your hands?_ he asked silently, though he dared not utter the words. He knew that if Max kept following this path of reform, she would come to that matter on her own soon enough.

"How did it all come to this?" Max asked, her eyes suddenly boring into Logan's. "How could that carefree girl I was turn into what I've become?"

"I don't know," Logan admitted, "but you have to admit that your childhood probably had something to do with it. Lydecker told me once that all of the X-5's were designed to kill, that all any of you needed was a trigger. I don't think he simply meant that your augmented bodies were good at the work, either. It was something more than that – he seemed absolutely certain that your psyches would lead you down that road. I think he might even have been disappointed that at that point, none of you had yet become what you eventually did."

"So are you telling me I'm gonna need years of expensive therapy?" Max asked sarcastically. "You expect me to lie on some shrink's couch, telling him about the mother I never knew and the 'father' I wish I hadn't?"

"Let's not go overboard," Logan said. "Why don't we restrict relaxing couch time to my apartment? We'll just treat your problem like we would an alcoholic's. You'll have to do most of the work yourself, but you can count on me to be here for you if you need support." Logan thought briefly of his wife and the interventions he had performed for her. He also thought of the failed attempts at rehab, and the pain he and she had caused each other each time she fell back off the wagon. Logan hoped Max would be different. He needed Max to be different. As much as Logan cared about his fellow man, as much as he sacrificed for everyone in the city, he doubted his ability to withstand another close, personal relationship where so much support was required of him.

"I'll do my best," Max assured him. "I guess that's all I can really do, isn't it?"

"Then I'll help you as much as I can, as long as you're serious about this," Logan promised.

"I'm serious," Max swore, her expression full of resolve. Logan sat in thought for a few moments, considering his next words. He knew exactly what he would be getting himself into, but he also knew he had already promised Rory that he would do whatever it took to get Max back on track. Rory had apparently done a great deal of his part; now it was up to Logan to keep Max focused on her goal.

"Alright," Logan finally said, "I won't let you down as long as you show commitment toward leaving your alter ego behind you." He suddenly looked at his watch, and then started to shift his chair toward his study. "My computer should be done getting its communications hacks in place by now. Let me go and do this quick broadcast, and you can tell me about the kinder, gentler Max that you and Rory have come up with."

"Great," Max said with a smile as Logan wheeled himself into his study. As she watched him go, she felt the happiness within her well up into an overwhelming sensation of joy. Logan had welcomed her back more easily than she had ever dared hope. After his initial hostility, he had come around almost immediately, and within minutes the two of them had fallen back within their old patterns.

"Do not attempt to adjust your set," Max heard Logan begin. Her smile broadened as she listened to his voice and recalled all the times she had sat in his living room as he went about broadcasting the 'real' news in Seattle. She had always been so proud of him, and so glad for herself for having met him. He had helped her grow in ways she had never expected or thought possible. "This is a Streaming Freedom Video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly 60 seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in the city." _Damn, he sounds so dramatic when he gets into his work,_ Max thought. _It's pretty sexy._

"Last night, the underworld boss Ricardo Rico reportedly made a drastic move for power," Eyes Only stated. Max could hear the edge of anger in her friend's voice, and wondered exactly what had happened as she and Rory had been going about refining her persona. "The families of seven good, honest cops were brutally murdered last night, presumably in a show of strength meant to break the wills of those that stood for justice and honor. Five wives, one husband, and thirteen children, all executed in a few hours' time. Many cops already on the take are likely more convinced than ever that they should leave the city's kingpins of crime to their own devices, while the few remaining good cops are left to wonder if standing up for what they believe in is worth the price. Meanwhile, six good men and women are forced to wonder what they could have done differently to protect the ones they loved. The seventh, Detective Robert Lane, a decorated officer with seventeen years' experience, took his own life shortly after hearing of the tragedy that had befallen his family."

_My God,_ Max thought, fury welling up within her. _Is this my fault? Maybe if I had been out on the streets this wouldn't have happened. Maybe Rory is wrong. After all, it's not like he's seen the things I've seen. All these bastards understand is brute force, and that's what it'll take to make them back down. A kinder, gentler me is not what it takes to get the job done._

"Today, the city's police, both honest and corrupt alike, mourn the deaths of those that they knew and loved," Eyes Only continued. "Now the question remains – what will they do about claiming justice against the guilty?"

Logan tapped a key on his computer and the hack was disconnected. He had, of course, known that the story would come out within a few hours anyway, as the police would never be able to cover up such an event. Despite the desire of the city's leaders to make it appear that its police force was untouchable, it was inevitable that word would leak. Still, Logan had doubted that Rico's name would have been connected with the crimes in the official reports, so he still felt satisfaction with his efforts. For the time being, though, he knew he had done all he could.

He wheeled his chair back into the living room, looking forward to continuing his conversation with Max, but found the room empty. "Max?" he called out, though he knew in his heart there would be no answer. _She hadn't known about what Rico did,_ he concluded. _She heard my report, and decided that Justice would have to respond._ He put his face in his hands and rubbed his stubble with his fingertips, trying to ease the confusion in his head. All of his hopes had been dashed in a minute, just as long as it took for Eyes Only to make a simple report.

_Please, Max, don't do anything foolish,_ Logan pleaded silently. _You had the right idea, don't give in to the temptation of claiming an eye for an eye. That's not justice, that's vengeance, and it'll only lead to more death._

To be continued.............................


	8. Am I My Sister's Keeper?

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

Author's Note: I would just like to mention **Icy Mike Molson**, who created a character that I used as a template for Carmen Exarchos. Additionally, I once again received some invaluable feedback from **Brynn McK** as a beta reader, and I must thank her once again for her efforts. (I don't think I can stress just how much different this chapter would be, one way or the other, without her valued input.)

****

Am I My Sister's Keeper?

"Damnit!" Rory cursed as he listened through his headphones to the sounds of Logan's apartment. As expected, the bugs he had left behind after meeting with Max's longtime friend had proven useful. Without them he never would have guessed at the content of Logan's report, or the reason for Max's hasty departure. He could only imagine what was running through her mind. He raced around to the rear of the building, not slowing his pace at all as he grabbed the end of a bungee cord and jumped off. He watched the ground race toward him as he plummeted from the thirty-story roof, and then felt his descent slow as the rope reached the end of its length and began to stretch. When he was only two stories from the ground, he drew a razor-sharp wakizashi, a samurai's head-taking shortsword, from its scabbard on his waist and sliced the rope. His body easily absorbed the shock from the landing after the final leg of his drop.

Rounding the building and looking down the alley, Rory saw Max dart from the front of Fogle Towers and hop on to her Ninja. Not missing a beat, Rory leapt onto his own motorcycle, a 2001 Indian bike, and gave chase, making certain he stayed far enough back that even Max wouldn't notice. It didn't take long to figure out that she was headed back to her apartment. _I guess she has to pick up a few things before she gets down to business._

Max was in her apartment just long enough to give Rory a chance to arm himself, using the weapons he kept stowed in his bike's saddlebags. He put on his own Ninja hood before replacing his helmet, and replaced his heavy, black leather boots with his tobi boots, knowing their lightweight design would not only allow him to move more quickly, but also far more quietly. He then saw Max race out of her apartment building and hop back onto her motorcycle. Then it was time to play keep-up again.

Max raced along, weaving through traffic like a woman with a death wish. Rory hardly knew whether he should admire her skill or make a mental note to advise her to take it easy while riding on crowded urban streets. As it was, he was hard-pressed to keep up with her, and heaved an audible sigh of relief when she finally stopped her bike in the middle of a very rough-looking neighborhood. Max walked into a run-down building, and Rory stepped off his bike and started to approach when he heard a brief exchange of gunfire. A short scream followed, obviously made by a man in a great deal of pain, and then there was silence. A brief moment later Max was walking back out, the faintest hint of a limp added to her previously powerful, confident stride.

Within seconds Rory found himself back off to the races, this time getting on the highway and heading toward the city limits. Max stopped again just a couple of miles from the Sea-Tac airport, in an area dominated by run-down warehouses that were little more than relics giving silent testimony to the memory of the Seattle economy's better days.

Max cautiously approached one of the buildings and jumped to the rooftop above. Rory dared not follow her up, knowing he would likely find it all but impossible to conceal his presence from his sibling. He instead approached the same warehouse and stood just under a window, trusting his ears to tell him a story to which the window's thick grime prevented his eyes from bearing witness.

Rory could plainly hear two men and a woman discussing prices, although he couldn't tell what the subject of the conversation was. At quotes of half a million to a million dollars, though, he was willing to guess toaster-ovens weren't the commodity of choice. _More likely it's either guns or drugs,_ he decided. _Or both._ There was a sound of shattering glass, five short bursts of gunfire, three of them obviously let off by Max's silenced MP-5 and the other two let off by guards with assault weapons, and finally a short series of loud thuds. A woman started yelling inside, and then there was silence. For the briefest moment Rory thought he heard something, like the sound of a mouse inside a wall, but he couldn't place it. The sound ended suddenly, though, and everything was quiet once again. Rory waited for what seemed an eternity until he finally heard Max's voice.

"I assume you're Carmen Exarchos," she said evenly. No response was given. "Perhaps you're unaware of who I am," Max muttered. "If you just give me the information I want, I'll let you walk out of here in one piece. If you resist, you might be... damaged."

"I know who you are," a woman whom Rory assumed was Exarchos replied with a thick Spanish accent. "You're that stupid bitch that's been running around town making business tough on all of us."

"That's right, I'm Justice," Max answered.

"No, you _were_ Justice," Exarchos answered, an unsettling tone of confidence and amusement in her voice. In a flash, Rory remembered the unidentified, muffled sound he had heard moments earlier, and suddenly realized that the noises had been made by men running through a tunnel directly beneath him, across from the warehouse next door. _Max walked right into an ambush!_

There was the sound of springs popping inside the building, and Rory assumed that several trap doors had just been opened. With a speed and grace that would have amazed any onlookers, Rory scaled the side of the warehouse, arriving in moments at the edge of the skylight that Max had used as her entrance. Gunfire erupted from below, and Rory kept his hopes alive as long as he heard the ringing of shots. _If they're still shooting, it means she's still alive._ Once in position, he scanned the large, open space below, trying desperately to find his sister.

He quickly found Max huddled in a corner, using a pallet of dry cement for cover. A thick cloud of dust was being created as dozens of rounds tore into the bags, but Rory could still easily see that his sister had been hit at least once. Her left arm was hanging uselessly at her side as she fired blindly with the right, obviously trying to buy time until an opportunity presented itself. As four men continued to unleash random, undirected salvos on Max's right, apparently hoping to keep her occupied, three men were advancing slowly on her left, covering each other as they moved. Rory knew it would be only moments before Max was outflanked and cut down by her enemies.

__

She got herself into this, she can damned well get herself out of it, Rory decided, knowing that no good would come of him rushing in to save his wayward sibling. _The time has come to learn a very painful lesson._ He knew that while Max could have argued whether the exploding briefcase in the alley had been meant for her, it would be impossible to deny that this had been a setup from the get-go. The three men on Max's left were almost in position to take her out, and Rory decided that a slight bit of help was necessary. Leveling a silenced Colt .38 at the men below, he fired three times, putting a bullet directly in the center of the first man's forehead, and a round into a knee of each of the other two. As he had predicted, the two remaining men screamed out in pain, drawing Max's attention. She rolled quickly to her left and let off three short bursts with her MP-5, finishing off the threat to her flank. To Rory's surprise, Max showed no sign of being at all aware that she had just been assisted.

Once her left had been cleared up, Max pushed the release for her weapon's magazine, allowing it to fall from the sub-machinegun as she rolled back to her right and snapped a fresh double magazine into position. The four remaining men continued to fire as a woman Rory assumed was Exarchos directed the action. _No more help from me,_ he decided. He knew that he could easily end the stand-off, and that his lack of assistance could possibly cost Max her life, but Rory refused to do any more to assist his sister in a course of action he found repugnant. _Besides, I've helped before, and she's only persisted in continuing her methods. I refuse to enable her any longer._

Max stood hesitantly behind her rapidly decaying cover, obviously reluctant to put any weight on her right leg. _Okay, she was shot at least twice,_ Rory decided, amending his previous analysis.

Rory watched as Max visibly took a deep, painful breath, and then could only stare in wonder as she dashed from behind the pallet, firing three quick bursts that each eliminated a threat. The wounds she had already taken had slowed her, though, and by the time she moved her sights to the fourth gunman, she was knocked out of stride by a third round that found its mark. The bullet did not alter Max's aim enough to save Exarchos' last gunman, though. Her first burst took out the man's left leg, the hollow-tip 9mm rounds blowing off the appendage at the knee and sending the man crashing to the floor with a scream of agony. Max then quickly followed up with a second burst, allowing a sudden, eerie silence to descend over the warehouse. All that remained was Exarchos, and Max was upon the woman before she could get a well-aimed shot of her own. In the blink of an eye, the gunrunner was disarmed and thrown to the floor. Rory simply gazed down at the helpless woman for a few moments, surprised at her extremely unprofessional appearance. Exarchos' long black hair was braided in pigtails, and she wore tight-fitting black capri pants, white tennis shoes, and an alluringly tight white t-shirt that accentuated all of the curves that Rory was staring at. He almost felt it a waste that the woman's extremely attractive body would likely be bloodied very quickly.

"Who set this up?" Max asked, lashing out with a blood-soaked tobi boot that she pressed into Exarchos' throat. Her shrill, anger-filled voice echoed off the metal walls, making her seem incredibly powerful and menacing, forcing the gunrunner to whimper in fear. Rory looked below him as Max began her interrogation, and saw several cases of assault rifles, handguns, and ammunition. He had even seen a box labeled 'C-4,' but there was none of the heavy ordnance that would indicate that Exarchos was anything but small-time. He assumed that Max had also come to the conclusion that it was unlikely someone like Exarchos would have been able to put together such an effective ambush.

"Qué?" Exarchos replied, seeming to have quickly regained her bravado. "No hablo inglés, puta."

"How charming," Max commented, raising her foot for a brief second, only to send in slamming down into her prisoner's shoulder. The loud snap told Rory that the clavicle had likely been broken, and it was obvious that the arm had been dislocated from the shoulder socket. Exarchos wailed in pain, and Max repeated her question. "Who set this up?"

"Rico, I guess," Exarchos answered through gritted teeth.

"You guess?"

"Some guy I never met came by and said he was working for Rico," Exarchos explained. "He knew all the passwords and carried lots of cash. I sold him some explosives, and he advised me to hang out here for a couple of days, in case you showed up."

"I see," Max replied. "Is there a way for you to get in touch with this guy?"

"No."

"Come on, Carmen," Max said maliciously. "You actually expect me to believe that?"

"Believe what you want, but I don't contact him at all," Exarchos replied, spitting a mouthful of blood at her torturer. "He gets in touch with me when Rico wants something."

"You have to know something of value," Max replied, placing her boot back on Exarchos' throat and pressing down, causing the woman to wheeze as she strained for breath. "What I'm gonna do is keep you here like this until you think of something I can use," she threatened. "So you might as well get comfortable."

"That's enough," Rory bellowed from above. Max's head immediately turned upward, though her boot remained firmly in place on her victim's throat.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Max shouted.

"There will be no more torture," Rory said firmly, staring down at his deadly sister.

"I need the information she has," Max spat in reply. "She's the one that supplied the weapons and explosives used to kill those cops' families."

"Can you prove that?" Rory asked.

"I heard it from a reliable source," Justice answered. "And take a look around you," she added, nodding to the crates of weapons, ammunition, and explosives lining the walls. "I think that's a good bit of evidence, and I'm sure some of it can be linked to the killings."

"Then take her to the cops," Rory said. "Give them the leads you've uncovered, and let them do their jobs."

"No," Justice replied evenly. "They'll just fuck it all up."

"They're not going to fuck up an investigation into the murder of the families of police officers," Rory retorted. "If there's anything you can trust the police to handle right, this is it."

"They won't punish her the way she deserves to be," Justice countered.

"So this is about punishment?" Rory asked pointedly.

"This is about justice."

"There are courts for that," Rory said. "Justice is not for you to mete out, no matter what you might think, or what name you choose to give yourself."

"Of course it is."

"No." Rory straightened himself up and crossed his arms, standing fast to emphasize his point.

"And who are you to tell me anything?"

"Think of me as the one thing you've lost," Rory responded. "I'm Honor." Taking a deep breath, Rory leapt down from his perch above, landing lightly and settling his gaze on his sister.

"Oh, you're Honor," Justice shot back. "That's rich."

"Leave now," Rory threatened to Justice, stealing a glance to make certain Exarchos was still able to breathe. She was. "I don't want to get into this with you."

"Seems like you have no choice," Justice replied. Her fist shot out with blinding speed, but Rory parried the strike with ease. The vigilante then followed with a series of kicks and punches, all of which were deflected with a relaxed grace and precision that Rory knew would infuriate his sister. She had never fought someone who was both as physically gifted and as well trained as he was, and now Rory knew he was putting her in that unenviable position while she was nursing several gunshot wounds. Despite having been shot at least three times, Max's attacks became faster and more ferocious, and Rory realized that his sister was starting to direct her strikes with the intent to kill rather than simply immobilize. As much as he felt he could find an opening to put his opponent down, he dared not take the chance that Justice was baiting him into a foolish error. He had noticed that Exarchos had slowly started to crawl away, and allowing her to escape was his one and only plan for the time being. He knew that defeating his opponent was not vital in achieving that goal, so he didn't even try.

_Come on, Max,_ Rory pleaded silently, hoping his sister would continue her frustrated attacks. _You can fight better than this_. The longer she lashed out at him, the longer Exarchos had to flee. Carmen Exarchos had finally gotten to the rear of the warehouse and entered a back room, and Rory simply hoped that his sister's prisoner would be smart enough to leave rather than re-enter the room with an assault rifle. Moments passed, and Exarchos did not reappear.

An engine started up outside, and Justice's eyes flashed momentarily as she obviously noticed the sound. A quick half-step back and a momentary re-adjustment of her weight were the only warning Rory received that his sister was going to make an attempt to recapture the gunrunner. Not willing to allow even a shred of an opportunity, Rory suddenly switched from a defensive to an offensive strategy, forcing the vigilante to defend herself rather than make an attempt to flee. Justice immediately fell back, knocked off-balance on her injured leg and suddenly forced to defend her wounded right side while only being allowed to counter-attack with her injured left arm. Rory split his attention between launching his blur of attack combinations and listening to the fading engine of Exarchos' Jeep. After he hadn't been able to hear her at all for thirty seconds, he suddenly broke off, leaping twenty-five feet into the air and grabbing a beam that spanned the warehouse. Within moments he was dashing across a catwalk as he prepared to launch himself into a running jump back up through the skylight and onto the roof.

__

Faster, faster, he urged himself, not wanting to risk prolonging his confrontation with Justice, though certain that she would be both unwilling and unable to pursue in her current condition. He achieved inhuman speeds as he raced across the roofs of the closely set warehouses, until he finally felt a twinge in the back of his left thigh. His stride immediately faltered and he tumbled awkwardly, rolling roughly a full twenty feet until his body finally came to a stop. _I popped my hamstring,_ he realized, feeling an intense, throbbing and stabbing pain settle in on him. Numerous small pains also started to gnaw at him, bruises and scrapes from his tumble, as well as dull aches all along his arms and legs from his confrontation with Justice.

_I have to get out of here,_ Rory decided immediately, scanning quickly to find Max. She was nowhere to be seen. There had been a great deal of non-silenced gunfire from Exarchos' men, and while the area seemed deserted, Rory was unwilling to take the chance that no one had heard the disturbance and called the police. He crawled over the side of the warehouse he was currently on, and climbed hesitantly down a ladder to the ground below. Once there, he was forced to hop all the way to his parked Indian bike. _I'm gonna need someplace to hide while my body repairs itself. I guess that means I'll be visiting Logan again..._

__

To be continued.............................


	9. Re-evaluation

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

Re-evaluation

"Hi, Rory," Logan said as he opened his front door and settled his eyes on his guest. "Or should I call you Honor?"

"You heard about that already?" Rory asked. "I'm impressed. That only happened a few hours ago."

"Well, word's sorta spreading like wildfire that there's another caped-crusader in Gotham."

"What?" Rory asked, seeming puzzled.

"Never mind," Logan replied, shaking his head absently. "I guess it was a little before your time."

"So have you heard from her?" Rory asked, suddenly changing the topic as he walked slowly into Logan's apartment, leaning heavily on a cane that Logan had never seen before.

"You okay there?" Logan asked quickly, pointing to Rory's leg. "She really did a number on you, didn't she?"

"Oh, she didn't do this," Rory said, seeming a bit embarrassed. "I did this myself. I guess I opened the throttle a bit too much when I was running. I tore up my hamstring pretty badly."

"How fast were you going?" Logan asked, not even able to imagine the amount of stress that an X-5 would have to put on his body before it started to tear itself up.

"Umm, I figure I was pretty close to cheetah speed," Rory replied casually. "Maybe about fifty-five, sixty miles an hour."

"Wow," Logan muttered. For a brief moment he wondered what kind of physical modifications – beyond augmented muscle fiber – would be required to allow a biped to move at such speeds, but he shook the thought off quickly and began to focus again on the matter at hand.

"Like I said, though, it was too fast," Rory commented. "But back to Max – have you heard from her?"

"Not yet," Logan responded softly, trying desperately to stifle his feelings. While he was more than willing to admit to himself that any romantic attraction would have to have faded over the year he and Max had spent apart, he couldn't help but admit that, at the very least, he still considered her a close friend. He hated to see his friends going through a tough time.

"Can I ask a favor?" Rory asked, seeming very awkward with the situation.

"What?"

"I'm a little vulnerable right now," Rory pointed out, "and it's not unlikely that once Max figures out exactly what happened at that warehouse, she's gonna want to have a few words with me. I was wondering if I could maybe crash here until I'm up and about again."

"What exactly was it that happened?" Logan asked suspiciously, curious as to how much of the story was yet to be told. Exarchos had apparently not been in much of a position to say much of anything, and all that his informants had told him was that someone named Honor had appeared and fought off Justice, thus saving Carmen Exarchos' life. Some thought it was another vigilante, while others thought Honor was an assassin in the employ of Ricardo Rico. It seemed there was no end to the theories.

"I'll tell you the full story a little later."

"You don't really expect me to fight off Max if she comes looking for you, do you?" Logan asked, not bothering to hide his doubts that such a plan had any merit whatsoever.

"Of course not," Rory replied, causing Logan to wonder whether he should be relieved or offended. "I do expect Max to behave civilly when she's around you, though."

"We can only hope," Logan replied. With the pleasantries out of the way, he was finally able to ask the question that had been burning within him. "Is she okay?"

"She'll live," Rory muttered, his face grimacing in pain as he stretched out on Logan's couch. "She's certainly had worse, that's for sure."

"Oh," Logan replied, not entirely pleased with the scant bit of information he received, but also unwilling to press Rory for any more details. He felt uncomfortable around Max's sibling, though he could never place why. The closest he had ever come to finding the right words was that Rory was an island unto himself; even when Logan was playing host, he always felt that he was just not welcome around the young man.

"I'll make you a deal," Rory suddenly said, breaking the silence that had descended upon the two men.

"What?"

"Well, Max mentioned once that you're a very good cook," Rory replied. "I'm not really comfortable standing up right now, so if you make a wonderful dinner tonight, I'll hook you up with a fabulous breakfast and lunch tomorrow."

"You're on," Logan answered, grateful that he now not only had something to talk about with his guest, he also had a means of building some kind of rapport with the enigmatic X-5. Logan had noticed immediately that Rory was not much like any of the other escapees, and that raised many questions. "So is there anything you don't like?" he asked gregariously.

"Liver," Rory replied immediately. "And lima beans. I absolutely detest lima beans."

"That still leaves me with a lot of options," Logan pointed out. "You have any requests?"

"Not particularly," Rory said with a slight shrug. "As you'd expect, my body is designed to digest and utilize just about any organic matter, and it's not like I've developed any major preferences that would limit that. Hell, I'd be pleased as punch just to have a pizza."

"That's not exactly a demonstration of the culinary arts that Max has apparently been saying I've mastered."

"I suppose not," Rory admitted. "How about you just go with chicken?"

"Sure, I guess I can do just about anything with that," Logan replied, suddenly searching through his mental rolodex of chicken recipes. It didn't take him long to decide on something that was not only tasty, but which also seemed more appetizing with every second he thought about it. "How about some chicken fricassee?"

"I never had it," Rory said. "What's it like?"

"Spicy, but not really hot," Logan explained vaguely. "I had a roommate from Louisiana that taught me his family's old recipe."

"Sounds perfect," Rory said, finally seeming comfortable with the position in which his injured leg had settled. "You mind if I take a nap?"

"Not at all," Logan answered, "but I don't remember Max ever napping nearly as much as you do. I was starting to think X-5's didn't need sleep much at all."

"We don't," Rory responded with a yawn. "It's just something about these mid-afternoon naps that really makes me feel great." He picked up the remote for Logan's entertainment unit, turned on the television, and pressed the 'Play' button. In a flash he was looking at a few men in the woods, three of them obviously police officers, and another man in a suit.

_"By way of explaining what we've been doing and are about to do, I'm going to first talk to you a little bit about the country called Tibet," _the man in the suit said.

"What is this?" Rory called out. Logan wheeled his chair into the living room, and allowed a broad smile to cover his face as he realized what Rory was watching.

"That's an old show from back in the early 1990's," he explained. "It's called Twin Peaks."

_"Following a dream I had three years ago, I have become deeply moved by the plight of the Tibetan people, and have been filled with a desire to help them,"_ the man on the screen continued. _"I also awoke from this dream realizing that I had subconsciously gained knowledge of a certain deductive technique, involving mind-body coordination operating hand-in-hand with the deepest levels of intuition."_

"What the hell is this all about?" Rory asked, unable to hide the puzzled look on his face. "I've studied Buddhism, and nothing this guy is talking about seems even remotely plausible. What's he doing, anyway?"

"Well, the guy in the suit is Special Agent Dale Cooper, and he's investigating a murder," Logan explained, wondering how he could sum up the scene as quickly as possible. "Right now he's going through a list of his suspects and throwing rocks at that bottle. If he hits the bottle, he assumes it's because his subconscious has picked up on something he hasn't consciously noticed, so he'll then investigate those people more fully."

"That's asinine," Rory replied.

"Well, as strange as this sounds, it all makes perfect sense if you watch the series from the beginning."

"Do you have the whole series?" Rory asked.

"Are you serious?" Logan responded. "Of course I do."

"How long is it?"

"Well, they get to the bottom of the Laura Palmer murder after about fifteen hours or so," Logan said.

"That's perfect," Rory said with a grin. "Could you just leave the disks on the table? I'll take a quick nap, and then I'll watch the series."

"The whole series?" Logan asked dubiously, not able to recall Max ever spending her time so freely.

"It'll help me broaden my horizons," Rory said, displaying a smile that seemed partly forced and partly embarrassed.

"Well, just so you know, the coffee is in the silver canister on the countertop," Logan explained.

"I won't need that to stay awake, you know."

"I know," Logan said, "but it's just something about the show. Everyone's always drinking coffee; it's almost like a subliminal commercial for the stuff. I've never been able to watch more than one episode without drinking coffee and craving donuts."

"Oh," Rory said.

"Well, I have to go to the store," Logan said. "You need me to get you anything?"

"Nope, I think all I'll need is right here," Rory said with an increasingly relaxed smile. "When you get back, I'll tell you the quick version of what happened with Max and me. I know that's what you're really waiting to hear."

"It's that obvious, huh?"

"Yeah," Rory replied. "That's fine, though. You care a lot about her, and she'll need that."

"I know," Logan said, "but she also needs to learn how to pick herself up when she falls. We can't do everything for her."

"You understand completely," Rory said, any trace of cheerfulness having vanished from his face. "I'll admit, Logan, I haven't dealt much with people in my life. I just don't understand some of the motivations that everyone else in the world seems to take for granted. I guess it all comes from having a sheltered childhood. I just don't know if I'm handling this right."

"We'll talk all about it later," Logan said. "Just take your nap, okay?"

"Sure."

Logan watched Rory for a few moments, noting how his breathing seemed to slow immediately. Within thirty seconds, Logan would have sworn that Rory was already asleep. _It's unbelievable,_ he thought. _He has the self-control to put his body to sleep in a matter of seconds, but he doesn't have the worldly experience to understand much of what he sees._ In many ways, Rory reminded Logan of an overgrown child, as he still retained a large piece of innocence, though he couldn't imagine how that character trait had ever slipped past Lydecker.

As Logan wheeled himself out of his apartment, he smiled thinly, having finally decided that he liked Rory. While the young X-5 could sometimes be as overbearing as Zack, he also had a shred of normalcy that not even Max possessed. He was confident, secure, and trusting enough to fall asleep in the apartment of a stranger. _That trusting streak will probably get him hurt someday,_ Logan realized, _but it's still a breath of fresh air to someone used to dealing with the people I see every day as Eyes Only._

-------------------------------------------------

_Honor, my ass,_ Max thought angrily as she finished sewing up the wound on her right thigh. Like the injury in her side, it was only a flesh wound. The only significant reduction in operational capacity that Max had suffered was the result of the hit in her left shoulder, which had apparently done some nerve damage. The arm had been numb since she had been shot, but it could still be used, albeit with more concentration than should have been necessary. Max took another swig of her vodka, wishing her body would absorb the alcohol more quickly so that her pain would ease, if only a slight bit. She had been forced to use a hot poker to cauterize the wounds to her shoulder and side before she lost too much blood, and the combination of the flesh first being torn apart by a bullet and then singed back together by a piece of red hot metal was causing her head to swim. _But I'll live,_ she reassured herself. _At least I can honestly say that I've had worse._

Once satisfied that she had done all she could for her injuries, Max tried to clear her head as she sat back on the floor, taking one last drag on her cigarette before dropping the butt into the freshly emptied vodka bottle. It was difficult to focus, but months of strict discipline paid off as Max entered a state of deep relaxation. Her pain faded away and her awareness of her surroundings dimmed. She brought her consciousness back in time, to the shootout in the warehouse. _Exactly what the hell happened?_ Max wondered. Events had unfolded so fast, and she had had no time during the firefight to actually think things through. Instinct had taken over and saved her hide once again.

Max thought back to how she had opened the skylight slowly, and then launched herself at her prey, intent to visit justice upon those that supplied the weapons that had made so much pain possible. Her legs jerked involuntarily as her mind relived the memory of landing on the floor, her body immediately curling up into a ball that not only helped absorb the shock of the landing, but also helped her move into a tactically advantageous position while providing as little a target as possible. _Two men and my target,_ Max noted. _That's odd._ In her mind the action stopped, and then moved in reverse, like a video recording that was being rewound. Max stopped the process while she was in midair, taking a moment to recall everything that her senses had recording during the assault. _Yes, only two men. If one was a buyer, as I had assumed, then not only would he have a guard, but Exarchos likely would have, as well. This is completely wrong._ Max allowed the action to resume its normal speed in forward motion. One of the guards let off a burst of gunfire with a MAC-10, and Max returned fire with two silenced bursts of her own, putting a half-dozen holes in her enemy's chest. The other man then produced an Uzi and fired a poorly aimed salvo in return, only to suffer the same fate as the first gunman. _Neither one of them was a worthy adversary. One of them should have been a seasoned military veteran if he was a guard. No, they both acted like cannon fodder._

Max centered her attention on Exarchos and sent a quick roundhouse kick into the woman's left breast, doubling her over with pain just as she followed with a punch to the back of the gunrunner's head. Two swift kicks to the ribs had followed, and then Max had backed off, comfortable that her prey was subdued enough for her to safely begin the interrogation. A slight noise caught Max's attention, and in her head she stopped the replay of the action once more, then rewound slightly. _There it is again,_ she noted. _What the hell is that? It sounds like footsteps, though they're muffled so much._

"I assume you're Carmen Exarchos," Max felt herself ask. No response was given. "Perhaps you're unaware of who I am," Max continued, a thin smile playing across her face as she anticipated the variety of punishments she would employ. "If you just give me the information I want, I'll let you walk out of here in one piece. If you resist, you might be... damaged." _Please resist,_ she remembered thinking. _Wait, is that right?_ she suddenly asked herself, surprised that she had been so eager to hurt her victim. The punishment was supposed to be a means to an end – a way of getting to those responsible for making the decisions. By enjoying the violence, Max saw that she was becoming something not unlike those that she hunted. _Is this what Rory and Logan are so worried about? Is this how I am every time?_

"I know who you are," Exarchos had replied with a thick Spanish accent. "You're that stupid bitch that's been running around town making business tough on all of us."

"That's right, I'm Justice," Max answered. The ring of the words hadn't lost any of their splendor over the previous year, but Max saw none of the fear that her enemies had displayed on every occasion since her reputation had spread. Exarchos seemed pleased, perhaps even relieved, that Justice had come knocking on her door. _There was more going on there than I knew._

"No, you _were_ Justice," Exarchos answered, her voice holding none of the fear that Max had anticipated. She almost sounded happy, albeit in a rather malicious way. _Slowly now,_ Max reminded herself, knowing that this is where everything had gone wrong. She knew that several armed men had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, but her attention had been so focused on Exarchos, and on ways to hurt her, that she hadn't noticed the arrival of reinforcements until it was almost too late. _Motion behind me,_ Max remembered thinking. Gunfire started, and then the action stopped as Max decided she was missing something. Max rewound the memory, and then went through again, more slowly this time.

"No, you _were_ Justice," Exarchos said. Then Max heard it – the pinging of several trap doors being released. _How in God's name did I not notice that the first time?_ she wondered. Back to full speed, Max saw the room spin as she whirled while jumping into midair to avoid her first attacker. _Only it wasn't just one attacker, it was two._ She took the hit in her left shoulder and dropped the 9mm she had been holding in her hand. Only the MP-5 remained. Gunfire then came from the other side of the room, and Max took a hit in her thigh. It was nothing short of a miracle that she kept her footing and made it safely behind the pallet of dry cement.

She sprayed wildly with the MP-5, hoping to force all of her attackers to seek shelter. While her enemies ducked for cover, they all kept their footing and maintained the pressure, preventing Max from escaping. _They were all very well trained,_ Max noted, concluding that every one of the men had been in the military. _What the hell were guys like that doing with Exarchos? She couldn't have afforded talent like that. At least not that many of them, anyway._

Max recalled having four men on her right, and was certain that there had been three on her left. They had been the ones that had had the best shots, and it had been at them that Max had directed most of her fire when diving behind the pallet. No shots came from that direction now. _Did I get them all?_ Max remembered wondering. She continued firing at the men on her right, preventing them from moving into a more advantageous position. It was then that she heard the screams of pain on her left. A quick glance revealed three men, one lying dead and the other two crippled. _No, they hadn't been lying there like that the whole time,_ she realized. _Rory probably put them down to prevent them from taking my left flank. But if he was there the entire time, why the hell didn't he help me take out the other four guys? It makes no sense._

She continued replaying the events, switching her memory back into slow motion, closely examining each of her actions. She had dashed out, putting down three men before she had finally been hit a third time. That had been the flesh wound in her right side. _Hurt like hell, but didn't cause any permanent damage._ She had returned fire immediately, then, putting down the last sentry as she raced toward a very surprised looking Carmen Exarchos. The whole situation had smacked of being a set-up, and Max had wanted answers.

_Shit, it _was_ a set-up, wasn't it?_ she realized. Her informant had led her right into a trap, and Max had gone in without any back-up. _How could I have been so foolish?_ she wondered. Then the inevitable question surfaced in her mind – _Who could I have even taken to watch my back? I work alone._ Suddenly she remembered the warning that Rory had given her, that her enemies were now starting to specifically target her in order to remove her from the streets. _Am I gonna have to worry about a trap every time I take someone out?_ she began to wonder. _Am I gonna finally walk into a situation that I can't get out of, just because I've chosen this lonely life for myself?_

Max's eyes fluttered open and she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and settle on some answers to her questions. Instinct and experience told her she had blindly stumbled into a trap, and the error in judgment had almost cost her her life. _So it just isn't practical to keep working like this, _Max decided. _And of course, I've already admitted that my heart really just isn't into this anymore. I want to make a difference, but not like this._ Reasons for her to stop living as Justice continued to mount, and Max wanted more and more desperately to escape the larger trap that she had walked into – succumbing to the darker side of her personality.

She resettled her thoughts, closing her eyes once again as she sat in the middle of the floor for hours, her legs folded up in lotus position as she continued to review her memory of the attack, poring over ever detail and agonizing at her own recklessness and stupidity. Every time she came to the same conclusions, and self-doubt started to tear at her insides. Finally, her eyes shot open as her breathing and heart rate jump-started to normal levels. _That's it, I'm done,_ she vowed. However, she still had several problems that needed to be addressed, and she doubted she could handle them on her own. _I definitely need help,_ she decided, _and I don't know how Rory and Logan will respond when I go to them again, swearing that this time it'll _really_ be different._

-------------------------------------------------

Himiko Minamoto sat on the edge of her seat, wondering why it was taking so long to get information about Justice's assault on Exarchos' warehouse. The ambush had been planned out to the slightest detail, and The Spider was certain that her men should have succeeded in killing off Seattle's foremost vigilante. _At least, they damn well better have succeeded,_ she thought venomously. _For what they cost, I expect nothing short of success._

A soft knock came from her office door, and Himiko stood and walked into the tall bushes that lay between her desk and the room's entrance. It was habit to make certain she was not easy to find in the room, even when the visitor was only her brother. "Come in," Himiko said softly, though she knew that her voice could not be heard outside. She pushed a button on a remote in her hand, and the double doors opened into her office. A moment later, Shinji strode into the room. Himiko watched him intently, searching for any outward sign of the news she would hear. There was none. She was pleased that her brother was so adept at hiding his thoughts and feelings, even from one that had known him so well for so long. His stolid demeanor made him that much better a representative on the streets of Seattle.

Shinji came to a stop ten feet in front of Himiko's desk and waited for her to walk to him. She obliged him immediately, walking between two large ferns and around behind her desk, focusing her dark brown eyes on the man in front of her as she sat down. "Well?"

"Justice still lives," Shinji reported.

"Explain," Himiko instructed, doing her best to hide her disappointment and irritation. She had hoped that the ambush at Exarchos' warehouse would have ended the Justice problem, but there was still a wonderful fallback plan in the works. In the end, Himiko wondered whether it might actually work out better that she had missed her latest opportunity.

"The ambush began as planned," Shinji said, "and it seemed they would succeed in their objective."

"But something unexpected fucked everything up," Himiko guessed.

"Exactly," Shinji confirmed. "There was a second individual, presumably an X-5."

"What?" The appearance of a second super soldier was the last thing Himiko had expected to go wrong, and now she had to face a completely different situation. The immediate matter was whether the new individual was indeed also a product of the same Manticore project that presumably produced Justice. The presence of a second soldier made it far tougher to assume that Justice was simply a rogue escapee, and would likely indicate that an entire team had, in fact, been deployed to the city by the government. Such a situation would be uncomfortable at the least, and likely very dangerous at the worst. "Were either of them killed?"

"No. In fact, our information seems to indicate that the two individuals started fighting each other." Himiko stopped herself short of breathing an audible sigh of relief, hoping she had controlled her own expression with the same aplomb her brother had his when he had entered. The logical conclusion was that Justice's high-profile exploits had drawn some attention from Manticore, and they had deployed one of their own to recapture their wayward daughter. _But if that's the case, why send only one person to take down this one?_ she wondered. It just didn't make sense. _It has to be something else…_

"Did we get any of this on video?" Himiko asked, hoping a clue could be gleaned by reviewing events and also drooling at the prospect of seeing two of these supposed super-soldiers going at each other.

"Partly, though regrettably there seems to have been some problems with the equipment," Shinji noted, a definite tone of disgust in his voice. "The video worked, though we don't have any audio."

"Video is all I really need," Himiko said. "That will allow me to review the confrontation thoroughly." She sat in silence for a few moments, making a mental checklist of strengths and weaknesses she would look for in her foes, and then continued. "And what has become of Ms. Exarchos?"

"I was able to conduct a short interview at the hospital," Shinji said, "though she appeared to be in a state of some kind of emotional shock. To be honest, I didn't get much more from her than the name of the new vigilante – Honor. In all other things, Ms. Exarchos was all but worthless, so I terminated her."

"Good," Himiko said, knowing that her brother had acted wisely in cutting off anyone that could lead back to her. "Did she say anything that might expose our participation in events?"

"I doubt it," Shinji said, a smile on his face. "My Spanish is a bit rusty, but I believe she did little more than babble on about getting away from the demon that walked as a woman, if I'm not mistaken, and she kept repeating 'Justice' and 'Honor' over and over again. There was little else coming from her, though I'm certain that she truly believed that she had been dealing with Rico."

"Then it was worth the money to lure Esteban away from his old boss to work for us," Himiko muttered. Framing Rico had been essential for the long-range plan; to make the set-up seem believable, Himiko had bought the allegiance of Rico's right-hand man, Esteban de Guerra. Between his involvement and her brother's efforts spreading rumors all over the city, it had not taken much to convince people that Rico, not Himiko, was the one making a push for power in the city. "Now that there's no one to identify the middle-man, we should be fine."

"But what about Justice and her friend, Honor?"

"What else do we know?"

"Not much," Shinji admitted. "We know the name, and we can deduce strengths and weaknesses from the tapes."

"So they ended up fighting?" Himiko asked, forcing her brother to repeat himself as he nodded in confirmation. She doubted the report, though she knew any questions as to that fact would likely be answered once she viewed the videodisks. "We're absolutely sure of this?"

"I already reviewed the confrontation, and it didn't appear as if either one was pulling any punches," Shinji reported. "The fight appeared genuine, though I'm sure you'll make your own determination. Of course, without any audio, it's hard to tell, but it seemed as though Honor didn't approve of Justice's rather ruthless tactics. She apparently cut short Justice's interrogation of Ms. Exarchos."

"You're kidding."

"That's how it appeared."

"She didn't like her getting rough with the criminals?" Himiko asked, finding the idea amusing. "Are we to assume there was there a sect of pacisfists in this Manticore project?"

"It would almost seem so," Shinji replied, enjoying the rare moment of levity in which his sister had indulged.

Himiko sat in silence for several minutes, weighing the options that were available to her, trying to guess at the probabilities of certain occurrences. It seemed that if the government were going to make a super soldier, it would go to great lengths to make him as psychologically and emotionally strong as he obviously would be physically formidable. Himiko would expect the fruits of such a project all to be like Justice, not like this new individual. By all rights, the Manticore soldiers should be more like remorseless, walking killing machines than rational human beings with consciences. Only three plausible explanations existed. First, this was not a Manticore-produced soldier that had arrived to deal with Justice. The fact that she had been able to stand toe to toe with Seattle's vigilante made this alternative unlikely, though. The second was that she was, in fact, a Manticore trained soldier that was engaging in some kind of psychological warfare with her opponent, trying to implant a seed of doubt that to an untrained bystander might seem like a bout of conscience. That was possible, but it simply didn't feel right. The alternative that Himiko settled upon was the conclusion that this was simply another escapee, one that had developed differently from Justice once she was on the outside. _Ten years of independent growth could lead to one of these kids becoming almost normal if they were thrown in the proper environment,_ Himiko decided. "We will proceed as planned," she finally said.

"Are you sure?" Shinji asked. "With a second X-5 on the loose, either with or against Justice, there seems to be too much of an element of unpredictability."

"You're starting to sound like me, brother."

"I take that as a great compliment."

"As it was intended, of course," Himiko replied, allowing an uncharacteristic smile to spread across her face as she hoped to conceal her doubts and anxieties about her decision. "Justice's motivations have become quite clear over the time we have been monitoring her," Himiko explained. "If this second one is actually helping her, then we'll be facing twice the threat we would have; given the circumstances of the encounter we've planned, though, that increased danger should be manageable."

"And if they're not allies, then we may gain some assistance," Shinji concluded.

"Exactly," Himiko said. "Given the increased risk, though, I want you to see to this job personally."

"Of course," Shinji said, his face remaining a mask devoid of any expression. Himiko wondered if her brother was truly as indifferent to her command as he appeared, but she accepted that as long as he obeyed, his true feelings were irrelevant.

"Just make certain of two things, brother," Himiko added. "First, get back here alive. Second, don't dare come back until Justice is dead."

"As you command," Shinji replied, bowing deeply to show his respect before he turned on his heel and headed out into the night. As Himiko watched her only sibling leave for a rendezvous that could be fatal, she found herself surprised that she was touched with a degree of concern. She examined the reaction, however, and assured herself that she was simply anxious that she would lose a capable assassin, and that no personal feelings were getting in the way of her responsibilities. _After all,_ she reminded herself, _family is not an option. Not for people like me._

__

To be continued..................................


	10. Apologies and Alliances

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

Apologies and Alliances

A slight disturbance in the air was all the warning Rory had that he and Logan were no longer alone in Logan's apartment. To a normal human it would have gone unnoticed. To Rory, it was a sign that someone had just entered through the window in the guestroom. Since they were several stories from the ground, Rory assumed that Max had finally come calling. He looked down at his watch – 04:30. She was earlier than he'd expected.

"Hi," he heard his sister mutter from the doorway as she took one step into the living room.

"How do you feel?" Rory asked, not bothering with any pleasantries. After watching Twin Peaks up to the resolution of the death of Laura Palmer, Rory had started to become confused as the series spiraled downward into a series of events that seemed increasingly contrived and forced. He had quickly lost interest and had been able to spend his time reflecting on Max's actions. He could no longer say that he was pleased to see his sister, and thus he had little interest in making any small talk that would make her feel welcome.

"I'm still pretty banged up," Max admitted, though as she took a few more steps Rory noticed that her gait was free from any sign of a limp.

"You seem well enough to me," Rory stated evenly.

"Only on the outside," Max replied, suddenly diverting her gaze to the floor. _Is she ashamed of what she did?_ Rory wondered. He hadn't expected that reaction. Had he been a betting man, he would have put money on his sister coming in to try to get even with him for leaving her to fend for herself while she was under the gun. Rory had come to the conclusion that his sister was not the deep-down good person he believed her to be, but rather a young woman full of hatred and rage, more akin to Justice than to Max. That epiphany had led to some uncomfortable decisions, but Rory felt he was ready to make his final peace with his sister.

"What exactly do you mean?" Rory asked.

"I can't keep going on like this," Max answered. "I think I should leave Seattle."

"Why?"

"So I can get myself under control," Max said, still avoiding eye contact. "I don't want to be this person, but as long as I stay in Seattle I'm gonna be tempted to take matters into my own hands."

"And you think you wouldn't suffer the same temptation elsewhere?" Rory asked. "You think running away will solve your problems?"

"I'm not running," Max retorted. "I'm simply being smart about my actions. Look, an alcoholic trying to change his behavior wouldn't be stupid enough to walk into a bar; I don't see how my solution is so different."

"Because you're not dealing with an addiction," Rory answered. "You're not in the situation where your body and mind crave the violence you dish out. Every time you go out on the streets, you do so because you make a conscious decision to take that action. You hurt people because you want to, because you like it. I see no other explanation."

"So you want me to just stop?" Max asked skeptically, making her situation seem as if she truly felt she was dealing with an addiction.

"I want you to do what you think is right," Rory said, hoping his sister would understand the simplicity of his plan. "When I came to Seattle a year ago, I wanted you to find your true self. I didn't think being a courier was what the universe had intended for you, and you agreed. So you went and took up the mantle of Justice. You became ruthless, violent, and destructive. I came back here to help put you back on the right path, but I was wrong to do so. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For judging you," Rory replied, finding himself surprisingly relieved as he made his confession. "It wasn't my place."

"You said you wanted me to find my true self," Max said. "This isn't the true me."

"How can you be sure?" Rory asked.

"I'm miserable," Max answered. "I already told you all that."

"And then you went right back out to continue business as usual," Rory reminded her, pointing out the reason why he had decided she was, in fact, as she was meant to be. "It didn't even take twelve hours for you to throw away your ideas for changing your life."

"I was wrong," Max muttered, finally looking up into her brother's eyes. Rory felt like he had been slapped in the face when he saw tears running down Max's cheeks. He hadn't detected anything in her voice that would have made him suspect that she was crying, but there she was, trying to stifle the water-works and appear as brave as ever.

"What do you want?" Rory asked, once again unsure of how to proceed. He had come to Seattle with the intent of changing his sister. He thought he had succeeded, only to realize that his hopes had been in vain. Then, upon further reflection, he had come to the conclusion that he was being unfair to Max, judging her by his own moral code rather than allowing her to find her own way in the world. In the warehouse, he had allowed her to shoot her way out of the firefight as a lesson to her. This time, he had been prepared to turn his back on her once and for all. He couldn't bring himself to accept her as Justice, but at the same time he was willing to respect her decision if she felt that Justice was her true self. Now she was claiming to need help once again. _I cannot deny someone assistance,_ Rory reminded himself.

"I can't keep up like this," Max said. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you before."

"But I was wrong to have judged you," Rory said.

"Be that as it may, your evaluation was correct, even if the evaluation itself was unwelcome," Max replied. "I have to get out of this life, Rory, and not just because everyone is gunning for me."

"Though that makes for a good reason," Rory pointed out.

"If I truly felt that what I was doing was right, then I'd be willing to die for my cause," Max responded. "That's not how I feel, though, and that's how I know what I'm doing is wrong. I was reflecting on the ambush at the warehouse, and I realized that I should have known I was walking into a trap. I was blinded by my need for vengeance. In fact, I think Vengeance would be a better name for me now, instead of Justice."

"So what do you propose?" Rory asked.

"I need your help," Max told him 

"For what?" Rory asked, wondering how he could 'help' any more than he already had. It seemed that every time he did anything that he felt would make the situation better, he only succeeded in making everything worse. He had come to the conclusion that his own inexperience with the ways of the world was a primary cause of his failures, and he wanted nothing to do with anyone until he started to figure out people a little better.

"I need you to help me take down Rico," Max said.

"No," Rory said flatly.

"What?" Max asked, her surprise and disappointment evident on her face. "I thought you'd be down with that."

"I don't see how taking out Rico would accomplish anything," Rory replied. "You said it yourself – every time you take out one criminal, another just rises to take his place. Rico won't be any different. We could take him down, but some other boss will come along, and you'll be back in this situation in a few months."

"I know," Max admitted, "but while the criminals will be a constant, my behavior won't be. I said I want Rico, but I don't mean to kill him, no matter what he did. You were right – he has to face justice. For that to happen, he has to be brought face to face with the people his actions hurt. I don't have the right to punish him, and I certainly don't have the right to kill him."

"Sounds like you have a handle on this already," Rory replied. "I don't see how you need me."

"For two reasons," Max said. "First and foremost, I have to face the reality that he'll be waiting for me, especially after setting the ambush at the warehouse. I could probably take him out if I go in there guns blazing, but that would mean killing him and his people. To do this job with precision, to go in there and actually take him alive, is far more difficult than simply killing him. I need help – the kind of help only an X-5 can give me."

"And the second reason?" Rory asked, though he already suspected the answer.

"I need you to stop me if I get out of hand," Max said. "You'll be there as Honor, to make sure that I abide by my new code."

"I can't be there to baby-sit you every time, Max," Rory reminded her. "I don't see how having me along this one time will help you any in the long run."

"I have to show myself that this can be done the right way," Max replied. "Help me this one time, and I won't need it again. It'll be like sleeping in the woods." Rory suddenly remembered the one experience he and Max had really shared as children. They had never had much of an opportunity to mix – they didn't have skills that were generally considered tactically complementary – but there was one night, when they were only five, when the class was divided into pairs and sent out into the woods for the night. Both Max and Rory had been assigned to each other because they had never really worked together; Lydecker had presumably wanted them all in as unfamiliar a situation as he could create. Neither one of them had been comfortable outside the safety of the main building, and neither could gain comfort from a friendship with the other. They had been afraid of nomilies, wolves, bears, and every other frightening creature that they had ever heard of. In fact, as Rory thought back on the experience, he realized that Lydecker himself had filled their heads with no end of terrifying tales. The exercise had a simple purpose – face fear head-on and conquer it. Max and Rory had huddled closely together under the clear Wyoming sky that night, each of them able to hear animals scurrying around them in the night, and each feeling safe only because of the presence of the other. In the morning, though, they both wondered why they had been so scared. They had faced the challenge and realized that they were equal to the task. Even alone, none of the X-5's ever truly feared the woods surrounding Manticore again.

"I'll do it this one time," Rory agreed. "But when this is done, I won't help you any more. You understand that, right?"

"Yes."

"I'm serious, Max," Rory warned her, his voice holding a cold tinge. "If you suffer another relapse into your violent persona, I won't be there for you. You'll have to either find your own way, or get killed."

"I understand," Max assured her sibling.

"Okay," Rory muttered. "Well, now that we have that settled, I guess we have to figure out where Rico is. You have any ideas."

"Not really," Max admitted.

"I do," Logan's voice called out from the hallway. Max nearly jumped out of the seat at the unexpected sound of Logan's voice, though Rory remained completely impassive, wondering whether he was more surprised by the fact that Logan had been able to approach undetected, or that he himself did not get startled.

"Are you sure?" Max asked.

"Yeah, as long as you're sure that you're willing to make some changes," Logan said.

"Well, looks like I'm up for the day," Rory muttered, forcing himself off of Logan's couch. "I guess I might as well go get a shower." He walked uneasily from the room, leaving Max and Logan to work out their own problems in privacy. Logan watched Rory go, and then turned his gaze to his unannounced guest.

"I didn't hear you come in," he commented.

"I slipped in the window," Max admitted in reply.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Logan asked. "I can understand why you would have used an unorthodox entrance when you broke in here the first time, but now that you know me one might expect that you would knock, just like a normal person."

"I'm not a normal person," Max reminded him.

"Maybe not on the outside, but on the inside, you're still human, no matter how hard Lydecker worked to change you," Logan said, slowly moving his wheelchair to Max's side.

"Why did you leave earlier?" he asked, though he feared the answer.

"I wasn't thinking," Max answered. "I heard your report about the policemen's families, and I sorta freaked out. I felt like it was all my fault."

"Why?"

"Because I was spending the night with Rory, figuring out how to tone down my persona when I should have been out on the streets, preventing those deaths," Max said miserably.

"You didn't know," Logan told her.

"I know that," Max replied. "I just reacted too quickly. I rushed out there before I had time to think things through. No one who makes a move like that would let word leak out, at least not about any of the specifics, so my chances of discovering the plot were slim to none. I was just angry – angry at Rico, angry at Rory, and most of all, angry at myself. I needed to vent my frustrations, so I went out and killed a few bad guys." She looked at Logan for several moments, as if she expected him to say something, but he remained silent. "I won't let that ever happen again."

"We'll see," Logan said.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Max asked, unable to hide the sadness in her voice.

"Considering the fact that I already heard this less than twenty-four hours ago, just before you went on your latest killing spree, can you really blame me?" Logan answered, finding it ludicrous that Max still hoped to be taken at her word. Good intentions were all fine and good, but he wanted to see some actions to back up her resolve this time. He wouldn't truly support her again until she demonstrated a real willingness to change.

"I see," Max said, seeming to understand the whole point of Logan's words. "I'll show you what I want to be. Rory and I will take down Rico and serve him up to the proper authorities. I'll make you proud of me."

"And if Rico walks on some technicality, or if he beats these charges at trial?" Logan asked, knowing that Max's frustration with the legal system had been one of the driving forces behind her becoming Justice.

"Then I'll take him down again," Max responded, her face devoid of any of the anger that Logan had come to expect. "If he walks again, I'll get him again. And the time after that, and the time after that. I'll fulfill my role by making certain that these people are brought to trial. If they win in court, then that's the system's fault, not mine. The system isn't perfect."

"And neither are you," Logan said.

"Not quite," Max said with a disappointed sigh. She smiled thinly as she looked into Logan's eyes. "One of these days, though, I'm gonna figure out how to stop these seizures, and I'll finally be absolutely perfect."

"Oh really?" Logan asked, surprised at himself for allowing a bit of levity into the conversation. "Is that all it takes?"

"I'm practically perfect in every way, Logan," Max said. "I'm sorry for you to find out like this, but it's true." The thin smile turned into a wide grin, and Max started to hug Logan before he pushed her away.

"No, don't do that," he said, fighting to sound as if he wasn't pleading. He looked at Max and saw the pain in her eyes. "I would love to hold you again, Max, more than you'll ever know, but I can't let myself get attached to you right now. Not like that."

"Not until I show you I can change," Max said.

"That's right," Logan agreed. "You and Rory pull this off like you plan, and I'll be here waiting for you. Someday we might even be able to get back to where we were. I just have to be sure that you're serious. I can't support you if you're on a course to self-destruct."

"I understand," Max said, the sadness on her face suddenly replaced by a grim expression of resolve. "I'm gonna get going. When Rory gets out of the shower, can you tell him to come by my place?"

"Sure," Logan said.

"He and I will take care of business, and then you and I can talk again," Max said as she stood and started walking toward the door.

"Umm, haven't you forgotten something?" Logan asked pointedly. Max suddenly seemed confused and started looking around the room, searching every shadow for something she had left behind.

"Have I?" she asked.

"I haven't told you yet where to find Rico," Logan reminded her.

"Oh, yeah, that," Max said with an embarrassed grin. "I guess that would be important. Where exactly is it? Is it hard to find?"

"Oh, don't worry," Logan assured her, "you won't be able to miss it."

__

To be continued..................................


	11. Running Towards Megiddo

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

Running Towards Megiddo

_Well, Logan was right when he said I couldn't miss the place,_ Max thought as she looked through her binoculars at the long abandoned Boeing factory in Everett, roughly thirty miles north of Seattle. The building had once been the largest in the world, used by the now-defunct Boeing aeronautical corporation to build its wide-body planes – the 747, 767, and 777. The building was so large that it was possible to fit 75 football fields, or 911 basketball courts, inside. Shortly after the turn of the century, Boeing had decided to move its operations, though the company retained the building for several more years, utilizing it for certain research and development projects until the plant was converted into a museum. After the Pulse, though, the entire area was all but completely abandoned. The complex was very spread out, allowing its current residents an opportunity to keep an eye on their surroundings and prevent any easy access. Had anyone but an X-5 been undertaking the assault, Max doubted that an unobserved approach would have even been possible.

It seemed strange to her that Rico had left Seattle while in the middle of making a power-grab, but Max had seen stranger things in her days. She and Rory had discussed the unexpected move of their prey, and decided that he had likely used the expansive space within the factory to set a wide array of traps. _He's gotta be expecting me,_ Max knew. _First the briefcase in the alley, then the ambush at Exarchos' place, and now this..._

"The sky's gonna start to brighten a bit within the hour," Rory commented. "If we're going in, we should probably do it now."

"I know," Max replied, concentrating on slowing her heartbeat and calming her nerves. She could already feel her adrenaline starting to pump, and that was a bad sign. The human body only had a finite quantity of stored energy, and while an X-5's system could store more than a normal human, it would also go through that energy far more quickly. Max didn't want to burn herself out before she even reached her destination, especially not with such a vast area to search. It was not inconceivable that the assault could take a long time.

Having left their motorcycles near the junction of I-5 and Hwy 526, the two were forced to cover the rest of the distance on foot. Finally, after a quick but deliberate advance, they reached throwing distance, hiding behind a wreck of an SUV that Max suspected had been sitting in the huge parking lot since the day of the Pulse. "If you were a big-time criminal kingpin, where would you hide?" Rory asked his sister. Max noticed that he seemed every bit as uncertain as she did.

"If he suspects that I'm coming for him, he probably has himself locked up as tightly as possible," Max muttered. "And he probably has his best men around him."

"We're probably gonna have to kill a few of them," Rory commented. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Max admitted. Though she had sworn to do everything in her power to prevent any deaths, she also had to acknowledge the fact that as long as she and Rory were so dangerously outnumbered, they couldn't afford to take any chances. They would each have to put their man down as quickly as possible. If they could do so without killing, they would, but Max was also well aware that she might not have an alternative at some point. _It's all about your intent,_ she reminded herself. _As long as you honestly intend to do this without killing, and do everything in your power to avoid any deaths, then you'll have no reason to be disappointed in your efforts._

"I don't hear anything," Rory commented.

"Neither do I," Max admitted, "unless, of course, I count your heartbeat. You nervous?"

"Not at all," Rory answered, though Max knew from his increased heart rate that he was lying. "You?"

"I'm just fine," Max also lied, knowing that Rory already knew the truth. She scanned along the rooftops, hoping to find some sign of a sentry or... a camera. With a thin grin on her face, Max pointed to a small camera no larger than her hand, positioned at the corner of the large construction plant. "That's not supposed to be there," she muttered.

"Huh?" Rory asked.

"That's a SecureTech IRC-410," Max answered. "The company only introduced the model about three months ago, so someone's been out here to install it. I think we just found the bad guys."

"Great," Rory muttered.

"That's the good news," Max said, shifting her weight slightly, preparing to move in an instant if she needed to. She saw that Rory had noticed her movement, and had followed suit.

"Then what's the bad news?" Rory asked.

"The bad news is that the 'IRC' in the product number stands for 'Infra-red camera,' " Max answered. "They probably know we're here."

"Then what are they waiting -" Rory's final words were cut off by gunfire directed in their direction. Bullets danced off of the asphalt and tore through the SUV, but Max and Rory were already moving as quickly as they could, preparing to dive into the building. Max let loose with her MP-5, emptying the clip as she dashed toward a door on the side of the building. By the time she reached the door, the gunfire had weakened it enough so that it easily caved in under the force of the jumping side kick she directed at its center. Rory came in right after her, and the two were greeted with a salvo of bullets from another guard. With a lightning quick movement, Max produced a ball of flash powder she had encased in a thin pottery shell and hidden beneath her tunic. She tossed the ball at her attacker, and the blast of light that resulted blinded him long enough for her to incapacitate him, though leave him alive.

"You know, it probably would have been easier, and safer, to have just shot him," Rory commented.

"I'm not doing this job because it's easy," Max returned with a grim smile. "It was possible to put him down without killing him, so I did."

"Okay," Rory replied. "Just don't get careless trying to prove something to yourself."

"Don't worry about me," Max assured her brother. "I guess this is where we split up?"

"I guess so. Be careful, alright?"

"You to." Without another word, Max dashed off down the corridor in the opposite direction. "You hear me okay?" she muttered, hoping the sub-vocal microphones that she and Rory were using would actually work in the large, metal building. She had concerns about the signal being broken up.

"I hear you just fine," Rory replied. "Now stop talking to me and pay attention." Max smiled, but kept quiet, as she continued to run through the building, covering as much territory as she could. There had been no apparent escape vehicles outside, so she knew that at least one vehicle was inside the building on the ground floor. She just needed to get into the main hangar. She turned a corner, running through another dark, concrete hallway toward the center of the building. She finally reached a heavy metal door, and could hear a lot of activity on the other side. _Jackpot._

A few seconds was all she needed to place a small plastic explosive charge on the lock. Just before she pressed the detonator, though, she heard gunfire erupt from the other side. _I'm running late,_ she thought, knowing Rory had already arrived to cut off Rico's escape. She blew the lock and dashed into the hangar, opening fire herself as she did her best to find cover from guards that had very quickly turned their attention in her direction.

-------------------------------------------------

Shinji Minamoto had watched the approach of the two vigilantes with some interest, surprised that they now seemed to be working together. He considered calling off his sister's plan, due to too many unpredictable elements, but decided against it. She had, after all, warned him not to return home until Justice was dead. He wasn't about to lose the privilege of sleeping in his own bed. When the gunfire had started, Shinji had motioned for his men to move into action.

Four of the best trained assassins in the world ran into the darkness, their combat fatigues helping them disappear into the night as they moved into position to eliminate both Rico's men and the vigilantes that had shown up to deal with the criminal kingpin. Shinji stayed where he was, with one last man standing next to him with a pair of military binoculars. His spotter would help in detecting possible targets, and Shinji would then use his sniper rifle to eliminate anyone he could. _They're all pretty much cut off,_ Shinji knew. _All we have to do is keep them from escaping._

-------------------------------------------------

Max fired blindly, doing her best to guess where her attackers were standing. She could hear continued gunfire directed in the opposite direction, so she knew that Rory was still alive and attracting some of the attention of the guards. _At least I'm not in this all by myself,_ she decided. Giving up on using care with her enemies, at least for the meantime, Max lobbed a grenade over the crates she was using as cover. An echoing explosion followed, and there was suddenly enough quiet for her to hear a car engine starting. She came out from behind cover and caught sight of a black Mercedes with four passengers. The large hangar doors were opening, and Max could hear footsteps on the catwalks above. She turned upwards just in time to see four gunmen in military fatigues setting their sights on her and Rory. "Get down!" she yelled, though she knew in her heart she was too late. Rory fired in the direction of Rico's Mercedes, presumably hoping to disable the vehicle. The brief moment of action deprived the other X-5 of an opportunity to escape injury. Out of the corner of her eye, Max saw Rory's body crumple to the ground, as he was unable to avoid the new gunmen.

-------------------------------------------------

From his concealed vantage point outside the warehouse, Shinji Minamoto grinned. Two quick movements of his right index finger was all that was required to blow out both of the front tires on Ricardo Rico's Mercedes. Simultaneously, he could hear a new salvo of automatic weapons fire, presumably from his own men. One of the vigilantes collapsed to the floor, and Shinji used the free moment to pump two extra rounds into his genetically engineered enemy. _Well, that should take of that,_ he decided. _With any luck, that was Justice. Anything else at this point is gravy._

-------------------------------------------------

Desperation took over Max's mind as she assessed the situation. Rory was down and not moving, and she was being prevented from even getting close enough to see if he was alive, to say nothing of being able to tend to his injuries. Even worse, she could hear Rico yelling to two of his men – Max assumed the third guard in car had likely been killed when Rory had opened fire.

"Cover me!" Rico yelled as he started to run away on foot. Max could barely make out the two guards fanning out, taking up positions to hold her at bay. She looked up again, frantically trying to make certain that no one had been able to move into position to get a shot at her from the catwalks above. _Even with luck on my side, I only have a few seconds before someone gets a clean shot,_ she realized. Deciding to take action, and acknowledging the fact that she would have shoot to kill if she was to make it out alive, Max gathered her strength for a counter-attack of her own.

She was a blur of motion as she dashed from behind the crates, moving toward a large 747 that remained in the hangar as one of the displays from the failed museum. The large aircraft's wing provided her cover from the gunmen above as she targeted the two guards remaining by the front doors. Not bothering to save ammunition, she emptied the entire clip at the men, wounding each of them enough to kill them several times over.

-------------------------------------------------

"Rico's fleeing the building," Shinji's spotter commented.

"I see him," Shinji replied. He knew he could easily kill his sister's final competitor if he wanted to, but with Rico dead, Justice, if she still lived, would be able to simply leave by any route. He wanted to have her run out the front, too. Rico would provide all the bait he needed. A muffled shot rang out as Shinji put one bullet into Rico's abdomen, right at the bottom of his rib cage. The wound would not be immediately fatal, but would certainly serve to slow Rico down long enough for Justice to come out after him. Once Shinji had a clean shot, he would finish them both.

-------------------------------------------------

With Rico's guards on the ground level dead, Max only had to her turn attention to the men above. She ran along the length of the plane as she reloaded both of her MP-5's, holding one in each hand as she used the fuselage as cover from any shots her enemies might take. Finally, she reached the tail of the plane and jumped outward, turning over in mid-air so that she was looking up. She pressed down on both triggers, spraying dozens of rounds up at her enemies before she landed in a backward somersault that carried her underneath an old DC-10. _Two down,_ she told herself, certain that she had gotten head shots on two of the gunmen. No body armor would defend them against that.

She immediately heard quick footsteps above, and a thin smile came to her face. The final two men were running away. _Yeah, you better run,_ she thought with relief. _No point in sticking around trying to protect a boss who already ran away._

Pushing her amusement from her head, Max ran over to Rory's side, pulling him behind a large sign that described the 747 she had been using as cover. "Rory?" she asked frantically. "Are you okay?"

"I'm... alive," he replied weakly. She looked at the floor and noticed the bright red stains where she had dragged his body, and she could see that he was dreadfully pale. Even without her first aid training, Max was certain she would have known that Rory was on the verge of going into shock. In fact, she found it amazing that he was still coherent. "Go," he muttered.

"I have to get you to a hospital," she replied.

"We're... X-5," he answered simply, a small cough punctuating his words and bringing blood to his lips. _Internal bleeding,_ Max noted. _This is not good._

"You're hit bad," Max said, counting no fewer than six wounds as she pored over Rory's tunic. "I can get Rico some other time. This is more important. Even as she said the words, Max found it strange to hear herself express concern for another when she could instead be visiting vengeance upon a criminal. Something in her breathed a sigh of relief despite the circumstances as she realized that the young woman she had once been was not quite as dead as she had feared.

"Get him now," Rory said, his face grimacing in pain as he forced his lungs to work enough to give breath to his words. "I'll be here when you're done, and with him dead, you'll have a chance to give me some blood. It's not quite... safe enough for that kind of thing right now." Max pondered his words as she saw a new pool of blood begin to grow around her brother's body.

"Okay," Max said evenly. "But don't die until I get back. This'll only take a minute."

"I know," Rory replied. As Max dashed away after her quarry, Rory gazed again at the small blocks of C-4 that were arranged around the catwalks above. He found it curious that Max had noticed a small security camera on the outside roof, but had overlooked explosives that were obviously placed in order to bring down the whole building.

-------------------------------------------------

Shinji watched in glee as a black-cloaked figure dashed after Rico, slide-tackling the wounded man only twenty-five feet from the front doors. There was still plenty of light to give the Yakuza gunman a clean shot, and no immediate cover that the second vigilante would be able to use for cover. _Such a terrifying presence in the city for a year now,_ Shinji reflected, _and it was actually surprisingly easy to lure her into the open and set her up for death._

-------------------------------------------------

"Your days are over," Max hissed as she grasped Rico by the lapel of his expensive suit.

"Go ahead, kill me," he said with a surprisingly satisfied look on his face. "At least I got one of you."

"What?" Max asked, looking into the man's eyes. His only response was to raise a small plastic object in his right hand.

"No!" Max yelled, trying to snatch the detonator from Rico's hand before he could press the button. She failed. Max was thrown down firmly against the pavement by the force of the explosion, and her ears began to ring loudly. She could feel her hair melt under the heat of the flames that shot out of the building, and her one rational thought allowed her to get to her feet and carry Rico away from the building before they were both trapped under any debris. The ground shuddered as the entire hangar collapsed, tons of steel and concrete sending up a cloud of dust and smoke that prevented Max from seeing or breathing with any degree of ease.

-------------------------------------------------

"Damnit!" Shinji cursed as the hangar erupted in flame. Even at his distance, the initial shock of the explosion knocked his aim off just long enough for the resulting dust and debris to conceal his targets from view. "Do you see them?" he asked desperately.

"No," his associate responded. "I can only see smoke and dust. I don't even see our men anywhere."

"You're not going to," Shinji muttered, instantly acknowledging that his sister had lost some of her best soldiers in her move against Rico and Justice. Shinji hoped against hope that both targets were dead. Otherwise he doubted his sister would ever forgive his failure.

-------------------------------------------------

Max drove quickly, hoping to get Rico to a hospital before he died. "You damned well better live," she cursed under her breath. When the hangar had collapsed, Max had been faced with a decision – she could either stay around and try to dig out Rory, or she could get Rico to a hospital. If she dug for Rory, she had little doubt that Rico would die before she got him some medical attention. If she brought Rico back, she was under no illusions that Rory would doubtlessly die before she could return. In the end, she had to admit to herself that not only was Rory already likely dead, he stood little chance of surviving until she dug him out from under tons of debris. And that was if he had been lucky enough to survive both his gunshot wounds and the collapse of the building.

"I'm bringing you back to face the people you hurt," she spat. Max temporarily ignored the pain of having lost her brother, and instead focused on the success she was certain he would have enjoyed her having. She had not only captured the bad guy, but she had managed to bring him back alive to face the authorities. Even as she began to congratulate herself, however, his forced, wheezing breaths stopped abruptly.

"No!" she screamed, slamming on the brakes and pulling her vehicle over to the side of the highway. "We're almost there. You can't die now! I won't let you!" She got out and ran around the car she had stolen, pulling Rico from the passenger seat and immediately beginning CPR on him, trying to breathe life back into lungs that were full of blood. Every time she compressed his chest, she noticed a slight bit of blood gush from the bullet wound in his abdomen. _No, it can't end like this!_ she swore. _I can't lose Rory _and_ the bad guy._

She continued to work for several minutes until a police cruiser pulled up behind her stopped vehicle. Two cops jumped out and shined flashlights in her face. "What the hell is going on here?" they asked, though Max was certain that neither of them had any idea what to make of a cloaked form giving CPR to a gunshot victim.

"Holy crap, it's Justice," the other patrolman muttered as he drew his sidearm. "She's giving CPR to Rico."

"I'm Honor," Max heard herself spit back in reply. "Don't just stand there. Do something!"

"Dispatch, this is unit 54," the policeman said into his walkie-talkie. "We need an ambulance right now, out on I-5..." Max didn't hear any of the rest, as she vaulted over the rail at the edge of the shoulder. Within moments she was safely out of reach and heading back towards Logan's penthouse. It was the only place she could think to go where she would feel safe.

__

To be continued..................................


	12. Farewell and Adieu

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

Farewell and Adieu

"How are you feeling?" Logan asked, taking his computer from his lap and placing it on his nightstand as he gathered up several pieces of paper, making room next to him on the bed as Max shuffled her feet into his room. She had returned from the attack on Rico's residence almost a full twelve hours before, but had yet to say a single word. Not that it made a difference, she knew. During the day, while she had sat silently in the dark guestroom, Logan had pieced together the entire story from his various contacts. Max knew that Logan was concerned about her, but she also had no desire to tell her friend what had happened, to actually relive events through her own words. Somehow she felt that the longer she put off saying that Rory was dead, the longer she could keep her brother alive in some way.

"I'll be okay," Max muttered as she crawled into the bed and lay at Logan's side, just a hair's breadth from actually touching her body against his. "I just didn't expect anything like this to happen. Rory was supposed to be there for me if I needed someone to talk to."

"I'm still here," Logan pointed out.

"I know," Max said, "and I appreciate it, but there're just some things you can never really understand, at least not like another X-5 can." _There, I finally said it,_ Max thought, surprised that she had, at long last, been able to speak the words that had always hung in the back of her mind. She cared a great deal for Logan, and she wanted to get close to him once again, but this time he had to understand from the beginning that the two of them were different in more than just the obvious ways. As much as he might want to, he would never truly understand her, and without that he wouldn't be able to help her in the way she needed when things became tough.

"I know I'll never really know what it's like to be you," Logan admitted. "It's the same way with you, how you'll never really know what it's like to live your life without your legs. But I know that if something is ever wrong, you'll at least be there to listen to me. Sometimes that's really all a person needs, whether they're trans-genetically engineered or not." Max smiled at his words, knowing that to some degree he was right. "Do you think you can help me out of bed?" he asked, gesturing toward his wheelchair. "It's past time for me to get to work."

"Can't you just take the night off?" Max asked, finally sidling her body against Logan's, leaning against him for support. Her skin instantly warmed as their bodies made contact, and Max wanted anything but to have to move.

"I don't know if you heard, but some major events took place last night," Logan said, a tinge of sympathy in his voice. "I think this is something that Eyes Only should report."

"Oh," Max replied. "Do you think you could include the fact that Justice died last night?"

"Did she?" Logan asked, his brow rising in surprise. "I thought Honor was the one that fell."

"No, you're mistaken," Max said. "It was Justice that died. Honor will be taking over the city now." Max felt a lone tear find its way out of the corner of her eye, making it past the dam of resolve she had tried to build up to stop it. _Rory might have died, but Honor didn't,_ she promised herself. _He died so that I could finally find my true self. I won't ever forget that._

"You sure you up to doing things the new way?" Logan asked.

"I'd better be," Max commented. "I don't want to piss off my new boss."

"Who's that?"

"Eyes Only," Max replied, looking at Logan with a steady, unnerving gaze. She wanted to make sure he had no choice but to take her on as a sidekick.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Logan said.

"It makes perfect sense," Max retorted. "You report the real news, exposing the criminals that are depriving the city's citizens of peace and happiness. Honor has the same goals, and she'll be far less... ruthless... than Justice ever was. Eyes Only will be able to work with her, I guarantee it. In fact, it really won't be too much different from the way it used to be. You target the bad guys just like you always did, and I'll take them down. The only real change will be that people will finally have a second name to attach to yours."

"I see."

"You're not being a glory-hound, are you?" Max asked.

"No, not at all," Logan said with a smile. "Are you?"

"It's just that I have a lot to make up for," Max admitted, reminding herself of the atonement she needed to undertake. "I broke laws on a nightly basis and killed people when I administered justice on my own. I owe the city and its residents. I owe the police. I owe you. And I owe myself."

"Well then consider yourself hired," Logan said. "Just make sure that Justice never makes a reappearance."

"Don't worry about it," Max said. "I said goodbye to her when I decided to try to save Rico's life. We won't be seeing her again."

After Logan had gone, Max lay alone in his bed for almost an hour, tossing thoughts around in her head until she finally heard Logan begin his report. "Do not attempt to adjust your set. This is a Streaming Freedom Video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly 60 seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in the city." Max recoiled for a brief moment at the sound of the Eyes Only introduction, having recently developed a bit of a negative reaction to the customary introductory speech. Too often it had seemed that Logan had ended up reporting on Justice, and part of Max had always cringed in shame when she realized just how much her friend had looked down on her because of her activities. _But that won't happen this time,_ Max reminded herself. _You're not Justice anymore. You can look yourself in the mirror again, and Logan can finally respect what you do._

"In a violent bloodbath last night, two of Seattle's greatest criminals met their ends," Logan reported. "The first was Ricardo Rico, who so recently had attempted to strong-arm his way to the top of Seattle's underworld. His recent crimes, including the murder of seven police families, earned him a death sentence from the city's sinister vigilante, Justice. Fittingly, Justice also met her own end, incinerated in a fire and buried under tons of rubble. Out of the ashes of Justice, however, has arisen a new vigilante who calls herself Honor, and who has personally sworn to me not only to defend the lives of Seattle's citizens, but to also abide by a code that will prevent the types of depredations perpetrated by her predecessor. So for today, at least, Seattle knows peace and quiet on its streets. Perhaps this trend will continue." Max heard the feed for the hack cut off, and she closed her eyes as she curled her arms around Logan's pillow, inhaling deeply to enjoy his body's scent on the sheets.

_Rory was right,_ she realized. _Everyone deserves a little happiness. Mine is here, with Logan, fighting the fight I know I have to, but doing it in a way that lets me look myself in the mirror. Thanks for the lesson, Rory,_ she thought, realizing that she was now helpless against the flow of tears that was increasing with every passing second.

****

__

To be concluded.............................


	13. Epilogue

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

****

Epilogue

_Another night, another drug deal,_ Honor thought as she looked down into the alley below her. From what she had heard, this was a small-time operation run by two college chemistry students. _I don't know why they couldn't just go to the financial aid office like everyone else._

There were four men below – the two students and two buyers. Honor knew that none of them had the slightest idea that their transaction was about to be rudely interrupted. She jumped down and went to work quickly, knocking both buyers and one of the students unconscious before centering her attention on the fourth man. "Hello, Frankie," she growled. "I'm going to give you five seconds to tell me where your lab is," Honor threatened. "If you don't give me what I want, I'm going to hurt you."

"It's in a garage across town," the boy confessed immediately. Max smelled the sickly sweet stench of urine, and realized that her prey had wet his pants. _I can't believe I actually thought I had to kill these guys in order to inspire fear,_ she thought with amusement. "The address is at 411 Allen St."

"Thank you," Honor replied. "Your cooperation will be noted." She pinched a nerve at the base of the boy's skull and a moment later he collapsed to the ground, temporarily unconscious. Then she went to work duct-taping the hands behind the backs of each of her four victims, and then taped their ankles together. With a flick of her wrist she then produced a cell-phone, and she immediately dialed the number of the nearest stationhouse.

"Seattle police," a man at the other end of the line said in a bored voice.

"Hello, this is Honor," she replied quickly, hoping that tracing the number was truly as difficult as Logan had assured her it was. "I want to speak to the duty officer."

"Come again?" the man replied.

"I have a special delivery for the Seattle Police Department," Honor replied. "In the alley on the north side of Market, between ninth and tenth," she said. "You'll also want to investigate a garage located at 411 Allen St. You got all that?"

"Uh, yeah," the man replied at the other end of the line. Without saying another word, Max ended the call and scaled the wall of an adjacent building, then moved a safe distance away to make certain that the police arrived to collect the package she had prepared. It took them only four minutes to arrive. _In today's times, I think that's probably a record,_ she thought wryly. With business done, Max decided to go back to one of her favorite old places in order to enjoy her city.

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Once atop the Space Needle, Max could hardly ignore the sensation she was feeling. For the past year, every time she had looked down at Seattle she had seen only the worst of it, thinking of the city as a crime-ridden cesspool that would likely never achieve the heights it had once known, before the Pulse, when law and order meant more than some of the best re-runs on syndicated television. Now, however, Max could see a glimmer of something, a reflection of the same sense of hope that she kept deep within herself. In only a short time she had gone from package courier, to criminal vigilante, to honorable, crime-fighting crusader. If a product of Manticore engineering could undergo such a complete metamorphosis, then it was also possible for Seattle to eventually get its act together. Honor would help, and Max couldn't imagine anything getting in her way.

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In her secure penthouse apartment across town, Himiko Minamoto also looked down on Seattle, though she saw a very different scene. In her eyes, the city was completely ripe and hers for the taking. She had taken a great chance in maneuvering Justice to eliminate Ricardo Rico. The attack had given her the opportunity to descend on both of her enemies at once, while they were occupied with each other, and had allowed her to successfully eliminate both her competition and her opposition in one fell swoop. All that remained to stop The Spider was one more Manticore fallout, a young woman that called herself Honor. _I'll get to her eventually,_ Himiko decided, though she was in no rush. It would take at least a year to fully consolidate her power to the degree she wanted. _Then, if this vigilante still lives, I'll show her that there's no place for Honor on the streets._

Fin

****

Author's Final Note: Well, that's it for this little trilogy. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have any comments or criticisms, please feel free to post them here or contact me.


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